


Black Water

by twitchtipthegnawer



Series: Less Broken than Intended [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bondage, Breathplay, Bukkake, Can you smell my flesh boiling in hell yet?, Canon Disabled Character, Deepthroating, Disabled Character of Color, Dominance and Submission, Dubious Boys being Dubious, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Enemies to Lovers, Foot Jobs, Gags, Gangbang, Hand Jobs, Hard Cum Facials, Hurt/Comfort, Inadvisable actions on diner floors, Intercrural Sex, Knifeplay, Large Cock, Loving and consensual sex? In my angst fic?, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, No Overwatch AU, Outdoor Sex, Overtly pompous chapter titles, Past Child Abuse, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Rimming, Should've added that one earlier probably lmao, Sibling Incest, Starvation, Stating what tags I've added in updates feels kinda superfluous when I keep forgetting tags, Suspension, Switching, Tasers, Though not TOO large, Virginity Kink, Voyeurism, Whipping, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overwatch existed, sure, but McCree'd never thought much about them. They steered clear of the Deadlock gang, and the Deadlock gang steered clear of them, and it worked out rather well for them both. Unfortunately, McCree didn't know better than to steer clear of the Shimadas, too. When he joined the raid to cut off their burgeoning American branch, he hadn't expected it to end like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canary in the Mineshaft

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is a hurt/comfort fic, but will have a heavy emphasis on the _hurt_ early on. Neither McCree nor Hanzo are going to enjoy this very much, but I'm an evil author, what can I say? Comments are more than welcome, and critiques would be appreciated!

The ground was blurry beneath McCree, probably the result of a concussion. He was on his knees, staring down at hardwood and wishing it was carpet, so that it might at least be a little kinder on his scraped skin. His arms ached, pulled at the shoulders and tied at the wrists by a rope that stretched above him. Even if he lost consciousness again, he’d stay in the kneeling position, anchored to the ceiling by a large, steel hook.

It was supposed to be _easy._

Shimada was a name he’d been familiar with, but only barely. They’d moved in on Texas seemingly at random, and it had been so far away from their base in Japan that everyone was _sure_ it’d be an easy hit. Mess up the high and mighty fuckers, just a little. Take out one of their weapon caches. Just one.

No one had been able to predict _the_ Shimada showing up. “Fucking puta,” McCree muttered under his breath. His whole mouth tasted like ash and copper. He wanted a cigar so bad he’d kill for one.

Hanzo had fought like a demon. For someone who could afford all the bodyguards he wanted, it was downright shocking to see him whirl and twist like some kind of possessed acrobat. He climbed walls with an ease that left McCree reeling, unsure what angle the next arrow would come at. The bastard had shot his gun right out of his hand.

Without Peacekeeper, he was a goner. Deadlock wasn’t going to wait around to dig him out from under the veritable mountain of yakuza that were attacking, and though McCree fought long and hard, they’d knocked him out before he managed to force them to kill him. The last thing he’d seen before black had consumed his vision was Hanzo’s face, dispassionate as stone.

Torture was coming, but the question was, what kind? He’d tried to stand once already, to at least take the weight off of his arms, but he’d wobbled alarmingly once before collapsing back down. Despite the lack of guards in the room, McCree was about as far from escaping as he could be. Bruised wrists throbbing, McCree considered his prospects.

There was a chance they were planning to leave him here until he was so desperate for food and water that he’d spill Deadlock’s secrets, but he doubted it. They’d want his intel now, while it was current. McCree wasn’t a particularly high ranking member, but Shimada would have no way of knowing that, so they’d likely go hard and fast.

As McCree was wondering about the merits of simple beatings versus waterboarding, wondering what posh and pompous gangs might go for, the plain door swung open, letting light flood the dim room. McCree dragged his head up to face the yakuza, and was shocked when, yet again, he saw Hanzo Shimada.

He always seemed to be where McCree least wanted him, the dick. At least this time he didn’t come with an entourage of lackeys-- though that was surprising, to say the least. Was Hanzo _himself_ going to drag information out of McCree? He wasn’t sure if it was flattering that the head of the organization was taking the time to do it, or if it was insulting that he didn’t see McCree as enough of a threat to even bring even one guard.

McCree was pretty sure he was taller than Hanzo, but it was hard to keep that in mind when they were situated the way they were. Hanzo _loomed_ over him, just out of reach of McCree’s legs. His arms were crossed, and McCree wondered if he was flexing his muscles or if they were just naturally that huge.

“What is your name?” Hanzo said, the command clear in his voice. It was surprisingly deep, and it carried, made the air chill around McCree. The last time he’d heard that voice, it had shouted amidst the cacophony of battle, and then fucking dragons had appeared. It wasn’t a voice he was fond of.

Seconds ticked by, and Jesse allowed himself a small smirk. If they thought he’d just answer all of their questions, they were sorely mistaken. Hanzo didn’t seem shaken, though, simply stared impassively at McCree. Eventually he sighed, shook his head, and said, “If you would like to play it that way, I can indulge you.”

No second chance to answer the question, then. McCree allowed his eyes to slide closed, listened as Hanzo stepped towards him. He was surprised when the footsteps stopped, so close that McCree could feel the heat coming from Hanzo’s artificial shins. Cybernetics always ran a couple of degrees hotter than flesh.

There was a mechanical whine as Hanzo squatted before him. McCree could feel his breath against the side of his neck, and he tensed, hoping against hope that the mighty Shimada wasn’t actually about to stoop to the lowest form of breaking a prisoner. But no, Hanzo simply whispered in his ear, deadly quiet. “If you do not answer my question, you will not like the results.”

A taser dug into Jesse’s bare ribs, hard and unforgiving. He had just a moment to think, _shit,_ and then pure pain was coursing through his body. He felt, as if from a distance, his legs twitching under him, his arms locking above his head. Fire coursed through his veins.

He still didn’t make a sound. He’d had worse. When Hanzo pulled away, he at last had an expression on his face. It was only there in the tightening of his jaw, the darkness flashing in his eyes, but it was there. “What is your name?”

With a voice that sounded like sandpaper, McCree croaked, “Fuck you.” It earned him a backhand, left his already bruised cheek stinging, but he laughed anyway.

Crackling started, electricity sparking between the tines of the taser. McCree’s whole side ached, and he flinched involuntarily, but he didn’t stop laughing. It was surreal, that this would be the way he would die. And he would die here, he was sure. He had to.

“I paid you a compliment,” Hanzo said, soft and unexpected. “Coming here myself. You will repay me.”

McCree meant to tilt his head, but instead it lolled against his shoulder, muscles uncooperative. Ah, well, didn’t matter anyway. “That you did, partner,” McCree said, drawl thicker than usual through a swollen tongue-- someone had uppercut his chin at some point, and he’d bit it hard. “Mighty kind ‘a you.”

And then, because McCree really didn’t care anymore, he spit on Hanzo’s foot. At least, he tried to; he missed by a couple of inches, but the meaning was clear. Disgust flashed like lightning across Hanzo’s face, there and then gone, and he was backing up. Here came the real interrogation, McCree knew. Someone more trained in the art of pain. Hanzo was clearly a soldier, not a cold-blooded sadist.

“Give your soldiers my regards,” McCree croaked behind him as Hanzo retreated. “They pack a mean punch!”

But instead of leaving entirely, like McCree expected, Hanzo simply opened the door and stepped to the side. Men poured in, two young and clearly newer, and McCree felt sick at the realization that he was to be part of someone’s _initiation._ The other two were older, one with cold eyes and a steel jaw, clearly there only to do his job.

Last to come, however, was the man who worried McCree the most. He was strangely pretty, resembling Hanzo to an uncanny degree. They looked around the same age, the same height, had the same regal bearing that left them looking down their noses at everyone. McCree wondered if he was a Shimada, too; the family was large, and it wasn’t impossible. But there were plenty of differences between the two too, most notably the lack of a tattoo and the dark, dangerous smile unfurling on his face.

“You sure?” The man asked Hanzo, his eyebrows raising, gaze locked on McCree. His hair didn’t have silver in it like Hanzo’s did.

“Do as you will, Akio” came the reply, commanding despite the quiet tone with which it was delivered. Hanzo was standing in the corner, about as far as he could get from Jesse without leaving the room. His face might as well have been a mask.

Unexpectedly, McCree found rage bubbling through him at the sight of the men walking closer to him. Why couldn’t Hanzo have kept electrocuting him? That had been almost laughably easy to bear, as far as tortures went. If Hanzo had intended it as a _compliment,_ then why hadn’t he kept up the pretense? For that matter, what had Hanzo wanted to compliment him for, anyway?

“All right,” Akio said, and then he was stepping forward. Past the younger men who looked so lost, they really might as well have been boys. Past the cold, impassive face of the giant man. Akio tapped his shoulder as he went. “Help me out,” he ordered, easy and entitled, expecting to be obeyed.

Ropes were drawn out of waist pouches before they even got close enough for McCree to lash out, and he blearily remembered that he’d seen more hooks in the ceiling when he’d looked up earlier. He’d assumed they were for other prisoners, but as they manhandled him onto his feet he supposed they could be used for this too. “Gonna watch, are ya?” McCree addressed Hanzo, teeth flashing in a grin. “Kinky. I like.”

Of course he didn’t like it, but the brattiness took the edge off the sour knowledge of his own weakness. “Shut him up,” Hanzo ordered, watching as McCree’s thighs were gripped and lifted, ropes affixed to his ankles and tossed to the ceiling.

“That was the plan, cousin,” said Akio. The interaction was interesting enough that McCree focused on it, instead of focusing on the way he really, truly couldn’t get any leverage, tied up like this. It didn’t change anything anyway; he was helpless no matter what they did.

They didn’t bother with taking off his pants or boxers, of course. The clothes were already ripped and stained, and they would have been trashed even if no one had taken a knife to them, cutting the cloth into strips that fell away from McCree’s body easily. He found himself grateful that the cold one was the one to do it, because he had a growing certainty that Akio wouldn’t have bothered being careful with the blade, and he was injured enough already.

One of the younger ones stepped forward, clutching something in his hands that McCree couldn’t see clearly enough to identify. It was easy enough to figure out what it was, though, when it slipped over his face and Akio jammed thumbs into his jaw, making pain lance through him and his mouth fall open. A gag. Not just a gag, a _spider_ gag.

Jesse’s stomach was churning even before a slick finger pressed into him. He allowed his eyes to slide closed, but didn’t bother to stop the growl from rising in his throat. It was a wordless threat, but it wasn’t meaningless. Just because he was going to die, didn’t mean he couldn’t plan to take some of them out with him.

A chuckle rolled through the air above him, and a finger stroked down McCree’s throat. It must have been Akio, because years in Deadlock had taught McCree that very few people could sound that genuinely relaxed when preparing to rape someone. Hanzo must have been so pleased, to have a tool this ready and willing.

At that thought his eyes opened again, seeking without his permission. But no, Hanzo didn’t look pleased, or angry, or anything else that McCree might have expected. His facial expression hadn’t changed, and as Jesse stared between the gap in the bodies that were closing around him, he tried to piece together what was so odd about it.

Another finger, too fast and not enough lube. McCree snarled, his mind stalling out. His gaze dipped lower and took in the hands gripping Hanzo’s own biceps. Nails in muscle. Three fingers, nails inside him, and he couldn’t even spare a thought as to why Hanzo’s body language screamed that he was in more pain than Jesse was because his mind was consumed with _wrongness._

He’d had worse. He clung to that knowledge, even as his body betrayed him, legs kicking like they wanted to close, but he was spread open and he couldn’t _do anything about it._ A hand gripped his hair and forced his head to turn until his cheek bumped blood-hot flesh. His eyes glared fury upwards, and he was surprised to see something pleading the moment before the kid started avoiding his gaze.

There was only one winner here, he realized. No matter that there were five men surrounding him with cocks so hard they pounded in time with their heartbeats; the boys would likely come out of this feeling the guilt eat away at them, and the cold man acted like this was a fucking chore. And then there were Hanzo’s hands, that unrelenting grip.

Grunting, McCree tried to push the cock in his mouth out with his tongue, a reflex which only made the man above him moan. He abruptly realized his ass was empty, but he didn’t have enough time to brace himself before someone was pushing inside him. Whoever it was was _huge,_ unreasonably so, but McCree’s eyes had rolled up into his head and he couldn’t see who it was.

Drool slopped out of his mouth, thick strings of it dripping to the ground below him. His legs were sticky, his limp cock bouncing with each thrust that rocked him in the ropes. But, surprisingly, it was neither man inside him who came first. Someone to his left moaned, and liquid heat striped across his chest, catching in the hair there and cooling.

“Deeper,” McCree heard Akio say, that same light touch that had been on his neck dragging through the spend on his chest. He couldn’t understand what Akio meant until he heard the sharp intake above his head.

Obediently, the kid gripped McCree’s head more firmly, removing even the meager half inch of retreat that he’d had. A cock rammed down his throat, no finesse, nothing sophisticated about this method of breaking. McCree felt himself choking, his nostrils flaring around the lack of air. If he died suffocating under some witless grunt, he’d be pissed as fuck.

Just as he felt the blackness of his consciousness slipping away, the cock in his mouth jerked backwards. It left his mouth entirely, and as he gasped air in he felt the cum splurting over his face. His eyes stung and he shut them abruptly, some instinctive horror rising in him at the thought of cum in his eyes.

Whoever was in his ass had set a relentless pace, but McCree was finally adjusting enough that he could blink open his eyes and see the kid retreating, Akio taking his place. Akio had been wearing an impeccable gold yukata, but he’d loosened it, and McCree felt his lips curl around the gag to see his cock peeking out between folds of fabric. If the Shimadas hadn’t wanted him alive for information, he had a sneaking suspicion that Akio would have killed him and enjoyed it.

After Akio pushed into him, it felt like time slowed down. The pain in his ankles and human wrist was building, his shoulders and hips felt so sore he might as well have been dragged behind a horse. Saliva bubbled when he tried to breathe, some of it even trickling into his nose and heightening the feeling of drowning. He wanted it to be over so badly that his eyes burned.

At last, he felt hands at his hips clench as cum flooded his insides, disgusting and slick. And then there was _more,_ thankfully pouring so far down his throat that he couldn’t really taste it. He felt heat pool in his belly and hated it, but he couldn’t even bring himself to puke it up, he was so tired.

His ankles were untied and allowed to fall to the floor, barking against the hardwood and making him groan. Akio laughed again, smug and satisfied, but McCree didn't have the strength to lift up his head and glare at him. He watched sandalled feet walk towards the door, heard it open, then caught words he was almost certain he wasn’t meant to hear.

“Did you enjoy yourself, cousin?”

Seconds passed with no answer, and then the footsteps continued down the hall. The door clicked closed, and McCree was left alone in the dark again, with numbing fingers and a drying mouth. The gag, still in place, cut into his cheeks. There was blood beneath McCree, but he didn’t care. This was only the beginning.


	2. The Restraints They Call the Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McCree is a little shit, but he's _my_ little shit. This chapter isn't as intense as the last one, noncon wise, but I still want to remind all my readers to take a breather if they feel the need to!! I know reading darkfic can sometimes be a little draining on emotional resources.
> 
> Speaking of emotional resources, I want to thank the OW fandom like, tons. I have been having an insanely hard time lately, but now I can pretty much come to AO3 every day and expect kind messages. I'm only about 4k away from meeting my hit goal for the _year._ Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy!

Time passed. McCree didn’t know how much, only that after the first time he passed out he felt a little stronger, not weaker. So, enough time to recover a bit from the concussion, but not enough time to become dehydrated.

The second time he woke up he had to piss so badly that he was abruptly glad that if he couldn’t get himself onto his feet, he would at least not be stuck in piss-soaked jeans until someone came to check on him. Luckily he _was_ able to haul himself up, and the extra slack on the rope gave him enough freedom that he could get pretty far away from his usual spot. He hoped it ate through their floorboards.

While he was at it he removed the gag, though it had already been in for so long that his mouth tasted even grosser than it usually would after two blowjobs. He would know. Bitterness welled in him while he worked his jaw, trying to get the soreness out. At the very least he got some satisfaction from tossing the gag in his puddle of piss.

After he woke up a third time, he was getting sick of sleeping while kneeling. All things considered the cell wasn’t too bad, but the damn position he was being forced to keep meant that he couldn’t simply while away the hours between bouts of torture half-conscious. It kept him alert enough to notice when footsteps came down the hallway, aware enough that his mind could come up with possible future tortures unbidden.

He didn’t have too long to angst over his position, however, before the door opened once again. Hanzo stood, staring down at McCree contemptuously, and McCree didn’t hesitate to smile back at him. “Hey there sweetheart, back for more?” McCree said, glad that he sounded cheeky and not the least bit frightened.

Only one step into the room Hanzo paused, his nostrils flaring. He glanced around until he spotted the piss, and then his lip curled, genuine disgust on his face. It only made it more obvious that he was faking the rest of the time, though; McCree could see it in his eyes, the way they didn’t seem cold so much as expressionless. And he was beginning to think he could _use_ that.

“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo said, his voice throwing a stone into the barely coalesced smoke of McCree’s plan. _Damn, they’d done research._ “Are you aware of how much your arm is worth?”

Of all the questions he’d expected, that sure as hell hadn’t been near the top of the list. “Sure am,” McCree drawled. If he’d been anywhere near as transparent as Hanzo then his voice would have broken, but he was a professional at hiding weakness. “Stole it myself, if you can believe it.”

“I can,” said Hanzo, matter-of-fact and disarmingly honest. “I can also believe that it is worth something to you. If you do not give me usable intel on the Deadlock gang, you will find yourself tied up by one wrist, instead of two.”

“Damn,” McCree grinned wider, “you drive a hard bargain, darlin’.” A muscle twitched in Hanzo’s jaw, gratifyingly predictable. So much about Hanzo was throwing McCree off his game, but he hadn’t lost his touch entirely.

When McCree said nothing further Hanzo’s shoulders tensed. The shadows his well-defined muscles cut across his body looked deep and foreboding, but the way he sighed tried so hard to sound exasperated that it nearly made McCree laugh. “I can call in my cousin, if you’d like,” Hanzo said. “He could certainly get you to talk.”

“Can’t talk if I’m dead,” McCree said. Fury flashed in Hanzo’s eyes, and McCree basked in his momentary win. He’d guessed Akio’s tendencies correctly, dark as they were.

And then, because he really couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut no matter the circumstances, McCree did something truly stupid. “Why not try offering the carrot instead of the stick, if you’re gonna risk killing me anyway.” Hanzo’s face froze in a way that McCree was beginning to suspect meant confusion, so he clarified.

“Reward my good behavior, why don’t you? Get me out of this cell, or hell, just get me a meal. If you butter me up, I might just let something slip.” He gave an exaggerated wink at the last sentence, and then watched carefully. There it was-- a hesitation, however brief, before Hanzo hardened his gaze.

“And why should I take suggestions from you,” Hanzo said, low and dangerous. “You are my prisoner, and I am your captor.”

“That you are,” said McCree, nodding his head and wishing for his hat, since the motion just didn’t look quite right without it. How ironic, that even kneeling naked on the ground, he wanted his hat back more than nearly anything else. “But you ain’t gotta be my torturer. You already got someone for that.”

The most surprising part was the fact that Hanzo was tempted. McCree had expected to require days of taunting, teasing, dropping hints, just to be able to enact a plan that would probably fail. Yet here he was, not five minutes in, and he already felt the dangerous stirrings of hope in his chest. Slowly, Hanzo said, “A show of good faith, then. You give me something now, and you will be rewarded for it later.”

Hanzo was closer to him now, had moved almost subconsciously over the course of their short conversation. It wasn’t quite close enough, not really, but McCree couldn’t give Hanzo information in order for this to work. He couldn’t. So instead he wrenched his shoulders and pushed forward, glad for the strength in his legs.

“I’ll give you something,” McCree said, knowing that his proximity would mean that Hanzo could feel his warm breath brushing over his thighs. “You wanna find out how good your cousin had it?”

Shock froze Hanzo’s feet to the floor for a moment after McCree finished speaking, but then he was reeling backwards. Disgust and something like lust warred on his face, his mask cracked firmly in half. It was all the more satisfying, watching the way Hanzo struggled internally to bring that wall of indifference up. _Got you,_ McCree thought, a little awed. He might actually be able to pull it off.

Reluctantly, as though Hanzo was the one being held against his will, he stepped forward. Bare, metal feet were surprisingly quiet on the hardwood, and McCree found himself wondering if Hanzo ever wore shoes. It was an odd thought, out of place as Hanzo began loosening his clothes in a way that was inescapably similar to Akio.

When the hakama fell far enough that McCree could see Hanzo’s crotch, he had to bite back a laugh. What the hell was _that?_ Hanzo was wearing what looked like a fancy loincloth, which made no sense at all, considering that the others had been wearing modern boxers under their traditional clothes. _And they call me old fashioned._

“If you bite me,” Hanzo warned, “you will not like the consequences.” McCree couldn’t help but snort at how obvious _that_ was. He wasn’t going to cause trouble, not this time.

Even before Hanzo loosened his underwear, McCree could see the vague shape of his cock under the fabric, already hardening. He was likely pent up, McCree realized, and it fed into his confidence. Hanzo certainly seemed to be the kind of man who would pride himself in self control, but would be so much easier to manipulate if McCree could lead him by his cock.

Slowly, silent because McCree did, in fact, know when he couldn’t afford to push any harder than he already had, he rocked himself a bare inch forward and his lips met Hanzo’s thigh. He didn’t have much body hair, so his skin was smooth and almost silky beneath McCree’s lips. In other circumstances, he would likely have been delighted to have a man as gorgeous as Hanzo.

As McCree mouthed his way nearer to Hanzo’s half-hard cock, he tried to focus his thoughts. Planning ahead could be dangerous, and he need to focus, to apply his considerable skills and take Hanzo apart in a way that would have him coming back for more. He couldn’t afford to foster that little curl of hope in his chest, not yet.

Tongue flicking out to tease Hanzo’s navel, just a little too high to touch Hanzo’s cock, McCree allowed himself a smile. Above him, he could hear Hanzo’s breathing deepening, and found himself surprised that he didn’t have two broad hands grabbing his hair and yanking yet.

Then he pulled back and licked firmly at the head of Hanzo’s cock, and _there,_ a hand came up and buried itself in his coarse hair. It was knotted, he’d sweated into it and it had dried strangely, so even the gentle movements of Hanzo’s fingers tugged. But he didn’t fist his hand, and McCree was surprised yet again.

He kept his movements languid, lips along the shaft and tongue laving from root to tip. It took hardly any time at all for Hanzo to be fully hard, and McCree was amused to find that he was smaller than McCree was. Of course, most men were, but it was always a bit of a confidence booster. He needed all the confidence he could get, in the cell.

At last, when he knew by the shaking fingers in his hair that Hanzo was skirting the edge of being overwhelmed, McCree opened his mouth and sank down on Hanzo’s length. Without his hands free, it was more difficult, but certainly not impossible. He sucked hard, pressed his tongue up to rub Hanzo’s cock against the roof of his mouth. It had the dual benefit of making Hanzo shiver, and taking the edge off of McCree’s urge to use his mouth to mock instead.

It was so easy, especially in comparison to the way those grunts had taken him. Hanzo didn’t even move his hips, didn’t make a sound beyond a small, surprised _“oh”_ that he clearly didn’t mean to let Jesse hear. He must have been more pent up than Jesse had realized, and the thought made him want to grin a victory. Unfortunately, the urge moved through him and before he could stop it he felt his lips curling, no longer shielding his teeth.

For all his threats, Hanzo didn’t react the way Jesse expected. In the space of time between Jesse’s stomach sinking in realization and him hurriedly trying to cover his teeth again, Hanzo _moaned._ Jesse’s eyes widened, he felt himself go still in shock even as Hanzo tensed, because he couldn’t possibly--

Hanzo came in his mouth, shallow enough that McCree could taste the salty tang of it, the odd citrus note. There was a lot, and McCree considered swallowing it, but instead allowed it to dribble down his chin. He was surprised, nearly _shocked,_ it had happened so fast and he hadn’t prepared himself for it.

Though McCree gathered himself quickly, he found himself responding too slowly to protest when Hanzo slid out of his mouth, and then went for his wrists. The flesh one was sore, chafed raw in a ring, and he flexed his hand as the rope around it came undone. He’d let his defenses too far down at the end there, and he could feel the instinct to fight rise in him, turning his hands to fists.

But Hanzo had already tied the human arm again and then he was reaching down, touching his fingers to a button just under McCree’s shoulder that caused the band of metal and silicone at the end of his prosthetic to release, a pressure he didn’t even notice anymore _gone_ and _ruining his balance_ and then Hanzo was backing away, his clothing still a wreck, face frozen once again.

“You did not… give me usable intel,” Hanzo said, and McCree was vindictively happy to hear that he was out of breath, facade or no. “So I will leave you tied by one wrist.”

Barking a laugh, Jesse shook his head, stared at Hanzo with glittering eyes. “You’re better at this than I gave you credit for,” he said. He kept it quiet, mostly honest, and knew in the way Hanzo’s gaze slid to the side for a moment that it affected him.

“You’ll be given food within the day,” Hanzo said, slowly. “Do not make me regret it.”

“Not planning on it, sweetheart,” drawled McCree, watching as Hanzo righted his clothes, seemingly uninhibited by the metal arm he now held. It was heavy, and McCree could feel it as a gaping absence at his side. He hadn’t been without an arm for a long time now.

Turned out, watching Hanzo retreat wasn’t as sweet as McCree had hoped it would be.

_____

Hours later, McCree had come to a few conclusions. The first was the simple fact that, once he adjusted and put himself in his old mindset of only having the one arm, it was actually easier on his shoulders to be like this. It was more comfortable, he had more freedom of motion, and he wondered if Hanzo had known beforehand or if he’d only realize later and regret it.

Second was the fact that his plan, while stupidly simple and terrifyingly fraught, had a more than minor chance of working. There were only a few steps: get Hanzo to lower his guard, find a way to escape, lead the Deadlock gang to Shimada’s safehouse. And then he would be executed, because his loyalties would never be trusted again.

In the silence of the room, there was nothing to stop him from wondering who would be the one to kill him. He might have earned the chance to die at the head of the gang’s hand, but he didn’t particularly want that. Not that he wanted death at all, but if he had to die he knew who he wouldn’t mind pulling the trigger.

 _David,_ his mind supplied, unbidden, and he shuddered. Best not to think about that. By sheer force of will, he turned his mind to another memory. His third conclusion.

Jesse was going to have to act _fast._ Hanzo was better at being a field leader than he was at subterfuge, but he wasn’t stupid. McCree couldn’t afford caution, though the knowledge only made his plan feel more reckless. It was hard, too, because he did want to escape. Wanted to find a way to help his gang, one last time. He couldn’t just give up.

His fourth conclusion was less a conclusion and more of a theory, really. A theory he was eager to try out. Because McCree knew that it wouldn’t do to punish himself for getting caught more than he was already being punished, so he saw nothing wrong with wanting to indulge. And, against all odds, Hanzo seemed perfect for him to indulge in.

It wouldn’t do to think too long on that one, though, with him one-handed and tied up as he was. Luckily he had food to look forward too, wondered if Hanzo would bring it himself and McCree would have another chance. If a random yakuza took over interrogating him, his plan would be much more difficult. If Akio took over…

McCree found himself wondering if Akio was any good in a fight. He didn’t seem like it, but he also seemed important in a way that went beyond familial ties. He might not have seen much of the man, but he’d seen the way Hanzo reacted to him, and he recognized the look. He’d seen it in Deadlock members’ eyes, sometimes.

As if he was summoned by McCree’s thoughts, the door opened and revealed none other than Akio, smiling and dressed in a sunny yellow yukata that made McCree want to snarl. His instincts told him that he needed to be _careful,_ though, and he knew to trust those, so he simply watched as Akio swung a black bag from one hand and _smirked._

“Hanzo has told me to bring you food,” Akio said, dropping the bag on the floor carelessly. It was too far for McCree to reach it easily, which surprised him; most people wouldn’t bother keeping things out of his reach when he was tied up like this. They underestimated his legs.

“But you know, I find that it’s boring simply feeding a prisoner,” Akio continued, cheery in a way that made dread curl in McCree’s stomach. He was a quick study, when it came to personality types. It didn’t matter.

Flipping the bag open, Akio pulled out two items. A sandwich, of all things, which McCree supposed made sense only because it was portable. The other was a bullwhip.

“Would you like them?” Akio asked sweetly. “You can’t have one without the other. I don’t particularly care what you chose, but you’d best choose quickly.”

“Darlin’, I’m hungry,” McCree said, not allowing himself to hesitate. “And y’all didn’t exactly do much damage first time ‘round.” It was the wrong thing to say, but he said it anyway. He just hoped his skin wouldn’t break too badly.

Hunger lurking under the cordial tilt of his head, Akio nodded. He stalked forward and dropped the sandwich between Jesse’s knees. “Eat,” he ordered, “and then you’ll get that damage you seem to want so badly.”


	3. Fighting Fire with Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some new tags for this chapter. Whipping and *gasp* Genji! There is also, finally, a little bit of comfort in there. I've been eager for this chapter since I started, tbh, so please please please if you can, leave a comment. I get not being able to all the time, but every comment really does make a huge difference.

Humiliation was no stranger to McCree, and he certainly wasn’t going to sit there and stew in it when there was food in front of him. He was grateful for the fact that, beneath bulky muscle and a layer of fat that McCree hoped he wouldn’t lose before the end, he was particularly flexible. He gripped the sandwich between his feet, brought it to his mouth and bit down.

It was undignified. It was awkward as hell, with lopsided support from above. But it was _food,_ and if he’d been brought food he’d likely be brought water soon as well. The plain bread, bland chicken, and watery tomato weren’t exactly delicious, but they were light, and he was unlikely to puke them up during torture.

He wondered if Akio knew that, and had chosen the food accordingly. Somehow, he doubted it; Akio seemed the type to enjoy watching others stew in caustic bodily fluids. McCree’s torso was covered in the flaking, dried semen to prove it. He smirked around his mouthful of tasteless food, then smiled wider when Akio looked at him, half chewed food nearly falling out of his mouth.

Infuriatingly, Akio only smiled blissfully back. “I do so love it when they fight,” he said, “it makes this all the more enjoyable.” He was caressing the bullwhip, black leather cruel beneath his fingers.

Ignoring Akio’s promise of violence was easy enough, and McCree simply continued munching away. He didn’t bother taking his time; he wanted this done and over with, and he wouldn’t put it past Akio to start while McCree was still eating, if he got bored. Sure enough, he had barely swallowed the last of it when Akio was reaching for his rope, pulling the loose end that hung from the hook in the ceiling until McCree was hauled to his feet, his wrist aching as it took the weight of his body before he got his feet under him.

It didn’t matter if Akio was anywhere near as good in a fight as Hanzo was, McCree realized dully. He had physical strength, and likely a lot of experience in wielding that whip. There was already a vicious glee growing in him, and McCree was increasingly certain it would only mean he’d be hurting worse by the end of this.

“So, d’you want me to count or something? You sadist types like that shit.” McCree’s voice was even, all the more insulting for the fact that he appeared to not even be trying. 

There was something regal in the way Akio eyed him, even now. Where Hanzo’s superiority had felt like a mask, Akio clearly didn’t need to pretend, in this. “You can, if you’d like,” he said. “But I think you’ll find it difficult to concentrate before long.”

He walked behind McCree, and the taller man didn’t bother turning his head to track him. He could have, with only a single limb binding him, but it was enough of a handicap that he wasn’t confident in his ability to win in a fight, so he didn’t want to provoke. Besides, pain always hurt worse when he saw it coming.

A low thump sounded through the room as the end of the whip hit the ground. McCree wanted to snark, but he knew he needed to keep his breathing deep and even. These damn yakuza certainly had a variety of tastes when it came to their tortures. A hiss, then a crack as the whip moved through the air. McCree breathed.

As easy as it would have been to give in to his instincts, to tense and snarl and make Akio cut the tension short, McCree couldn’t give him the satisfaction. The height difference and Akio’s slimmer build already created an illusion of power that risked Jesse forgetting exactly how painful he could make it. But he knew whips, probably better than most men.

“You already have so many scars,” Akio said quietly, from startlingly close to McCree’s back. He felt warm breath between his shoulderblades and resisted the urge to shiver. “I imagine you’re used to pain, but I don’t mind.”

All at once McCree heard Akio take a step backwards and there was the _crack,_ the moment of nothingness that preceded the pain. And then it was a bright flash across his back, awful but bearable. He didn’t so much as grunt, wouldn’t allow his breathing to change so early in the game.

Two more lashes, crossing from right shoulder to left hip, layered nearly perfectly. Akio was _good,_ and McCree found himself wondering why Hanzo hadn’t led with this. Then a possibility occurred to him, and his eyes narrowed. “Hanzo… won’t be happy.”

The laugh behind him let him know he’d fucked up, even despite the way he’d kept his voice steady. “Is he ever?” Akio replied, forgoing another lash to press the handle of the whip to the raising welts on McCree’s back.

Dragging the unforgiving handle down the neat lines in McCree’s skin was clearly something Akio took far too much delight in. This could very easily end in another rape, McCree realized, and the thought made him close his eyes. Akio couldn’t see his face from behind, anyway, and the blackness threatened to overwhelm him if he didn’t externalize it somehow.

Then Akio began whipping him again, and an entirely different kind of blackness threatened. A lash across his shoulders, and McCree found himself flinching, just slightly, suddenly cursing the fact that he could move so freely with only one arm. A lash that Akio tried to line up with his spine, and McCree couldn’t catch the hiss before it snaked from his mouth.

One more. Two more. Three more. McCree hadn’t meant to count, not really, but the numbers ticked higher with just enough space in the middle that he could process each one. His knees locked, then started shaking. Four more. Five more. Six more.

At ten his entire back felt as though it had been skinned. At twelve he felt the unmistakeable trickle of blood down his ass and thighs, the rest of his back too uniformly pained to know where the cuts were. At fifteen his legs finally gave out and he found himself wrenched up by one arm, joint burning to match the pain that was slowly swallowing the rest of him.

At thirty he screamed.

Akio was talking to him, he thought. No, he knew, not by individual words but by the serpentine pleasure that seemed to be wiggling directly into his ear. Panting, slurring, McCree could barely formulate a reply, but his stubbornness was infamous for a reason. “Are you going to, nngh, talk all day, or are you going to whip me?”

If there had been any doubt, it was thoroughly dispelled when Akio laughed and his arm cracked down once more. McCree couldn’t even feel the blows in his back anymore, instead knew when he’d been hit by the agony soaking into his bones, jolting through him in rocking waves. He lost count at forty-one.

Whenever Akio decided that the whipping was over, McCree found himself focusing on small details of sensation to distract from the knowledge that a bad enough whipping could be deadly. His hand gripping the rough rope above him, trying to distribute the strain. The balls of his feet scraping the ground. Sweat dripping down his nose.

“I wonder if you need medical attention?” Akio said, quiet and considering. McCree could barely make out his curious expression through the red that seemed to have taken over his vision. “Not that it matters, either way.”

McCree found himself vehemently wishing that his hearing had never faded back in. And then, as Akio fearlessly turned his back and dropped his whip into the bag he’d brought into the room, McCree wanted Peacekeeper. _Needed_ it, with something feral and fierce and angry.

 _David will kill you for this._ The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back so hard he tasted copper. _Besides,_ he reflected as he watched Akio release enough of the tension on the rope to allow him to collapse back to his knees, and then saunter out, I don’t even know if it’s true.

_____

Some time later McCree found his head, heart, and back pounding three different rhythms. It was incredibly distracting. Dehydration made it worse, and he couldn’t stop cursing himself for asking for food without also demanding water.

When he heard the door swing open with a creak that he wouldn’t have heard if his breathing had still been ragged, he debated whether or not to bother lifting his head. In the end, he forced himself to, despite the twinge that ran down the raw meat of his back at the movement. He needed to know if it was Hanzo, coming to fail at being a captor once again, or Akio, not patient enough to wait for him to heal.

To his surprise, it was neither. A wheelchair rolled in, sleek and clearly expensive, but the man sitting in it could have been a beggar for all he reminded McCree of others he’d seen in the streets. Under his black, form-fitting clothes, bandages were clearly wrapped around every inch of him that wasn’t covered in cybernetics. And the cybernetics themselves were interesting, smooth planes of metal in his torso visible only because they caused distinct lack of bulky bandaging. Minimal enhancements, despite obvious, significant trauma.

Silence pulled heavy between them, McCree struggling to find words to properly snipe at the newcomer. The bright green shock of hair was at least a relief; if McCree had seen this man during the battle and had a hand in injuring him, he would have remembered it. Not here for vengeance, then, but something else.

Before he could get his sluggish mouth to cooperate, the strange man was talking. “This is not what I expected,” he said dryly, “but I suppose I should not be surprised. My cousin has had his way with you, hasn’t he?”

Cousin? _Again?_ Had the Shimadas shipped half the fucking family to the US? This wasn’t just some whim of theirs, then. They must have had a reason for wanting to gain a foothold here. Unfortunately, Jesse couldn’t very well think and talk simultaneously at the moment.

“More than once,” he rasped, hating the way his voice was wrecked. At least the man in front of him sounded odd, too. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of talking to, partner?”

Shrewd eyes stared at him from a slit in the bandages. They were gold, a rare shade too bright to be called brown, and McCree found himself wondering if the man had once been handsome. “I could get you some help, if you’d like,” he said, ignoring McCree’s question.

“I’d be much obliged,” said Jesse. Something giddy rushed through him, disbelief and lightheadedness making him grin with a feeling not dissimilar to hysteria. This mystery man genuinely didn’t seem to care either way, which meant McCree might actually get proper medical attention. And water.

“I had wanted to talk to you,” said the man, “but I can see that I’ll not get many clear answers from you, at the moment.” He sighed heavily, not so much put out as tired.

Not bothering to wheel himself out, he simply pressed a button on the side of one of the arms of his chair, and waited. McCree found himself wondering if he’d be cared for by the same nurse who was in charge of the man. Did Jesse seem _that_ injured? Was it just a matter of convenience?

But instead of some medical personnel barging into the room, panicked steps pounded down the hallway and _Hanzo_ burst in. “What? What is it Genji, did he--”

McCree burst out in laughter, unable to stop himself. Definitely hysteria, then. Genji tilted his bandaged head at Jesse, but stared at Hanzo, and said calmly over McCree’s breathless giggle, “Does he seem capable of harming anyone right now?”

Hanzo opened his mouth, no doubt to warn Genji not to underestimate McCree. But then the storm went out of his brown eyes as the smell in the room seemed to hit him, blood and the heat of inflamed flesh hanging low in the moist air. “What happened?” Hanzo asked, gaze darting to McCree.

“Akio,” Genji answered for him, and McCree laughed harder. They said names and gave away connections so easily in his presence that they clearly never thought he’d see the light of day again. Judging from how poorly he was reacting not even a week into captivity, they might have been right. So much for his plan.

Too slowly, Hanzo’s face was settling into a mask once again. Genji had scared him, casually and without a second thought. Bad blood? McCree couldn’t focus on it, on deciphering the undercurrent of tension in the room, when his own body felt like it had been pushed to the breaking point. If only they’d left him alone long enough to acclimate to the fire on his back.

“He cannot be left like this,” Hanzo said at length, looking to Genji for the nod of confirmation. McCree was having trouble focusing on them. When Hanzo stepped up to him and untied the rope around his wrist he simply crumpled, laughter cutting off as his muscles all seemed to scream.

Then Hanzo picked him up and slung him belly-down on his shoulder, and McCree’s world went well and truly black. Deeper than the insides of his eyelids. Deeper than any pain. _Sorry, David._

_____

Jesse faded in and out of consciousness for a long time. It wasn’t like the exhaustion of the beginning, the slide into almost-sleep that he’d _encouraged_ because he didn’t know when he’d get proper rest. This was terrifying, left him completely vulnerable. It was a slick, oily darkness he hated.

Distantly, he felt himself lying on his stomach, fingers prodding his back. Then he felt something stinging, a new aftertaste for the all-encompassing ache. Hands on his shoulders. Hands in his hair. Water on his lips. Words he understood even less than he’d understood Akio.

Through it all there was anger. It was so strong inside of him, a siren song of fury, that he didn’t realize it was outside of him too, at first. But he could feel it, in fingers that were ruthlessly kept gentle even as their jerky movements betrayed a desire to be rough. In a tone that said more than any words could, dead in the distinct flavor of “any emotion I let myself show will damn me.”

True consciousness, when it arrived, was a relief and anathema both. It meant that he could fully feel the effects of Akio’s attentions, no more adrenaline dulling it, but it also meant that he could tell that he was lying on a bed, arm stretched above him and tied to a bedpost. His legs were still free, which was good.

Opening his eyes revealed a room far more brightly lit than his cell. There was a desk and chair, two doors, one of which was open enough to reveal a tiled floor that likely belonged to a bathroom. It looked more like a room that a guest would stay in than a prisoner, but there were details that let McCree know what kind of guests the Shimadas hosted. A reinforced door. No windows.

Alone as he was, McCree didn’t really want to attempt to escape just yet. In all likelihood he’d have to be exceedingly stealthy to get out, and he’d underestimated Akio’s ability to wear him down. How many times had he been hit? A hundred? More?

Sleep didn’t sound good, what with all of the time McCree had already spent inside his own head, recently. There was what felt like a thick cream on his back, and it was calming the pain enough that he dared himself to move. He sat up on the bed slowly, every joint feeling creaky after having been still and stressed for so long. It wasn’t until he crossed his legs that he realized he was wearing low-slung sweatpants.

Had Hanzo gotten embarrassed by his nudity? The thought was almost enough to make McCree laugh again. This room might not even have a camera, so he likely _could,_ but he was as sick of laughter as he was of sleep.

As if he was summoned by McCree’s thoughts, the door that must lead to the rest of the building opened, Hanzo walking in with an armful of supplies. It was worth keeping silent for McCree to see the look on Hanzo’s face as he turned and caught sight of his patient, his arms fumbling and dropping a tube and roll of bandages.

“Y’know,” McCree said, voice rusty but so much better than it had been before, “I didn’t peg you as one for playing nurse.”

Scowling so deeply that Jesse was surprised the furrows in his face weren’t permanent, Hanzo stooped to pick up the shit he’d dropped. “I would be a poor leader, if I did not know how to tend to my own wounds,” he said.

Surprised, McCree let out a bark of laughter. It wasn’t anything like his hysterics of before, but he still wanted to bite himself for it. “You’d be surprised how few people’d agree,” said Jesse.

“No,” Hanzo said, a measure of stoniness entering his features. “I would not.” He walked towards Jesse fearlessly, only barely hesitating before climbing onto the bed beside him and leaning back to look at the wreckage of Jesse’s skin.

Difficult as it was to relax with a fighter of Hanzo’s caliber so close to him, McCree reminded himself that Hanzo wouldn’t want to undo all of his hard work so quickly. Still, he couldn’t help but be a bit prickly. “Who was that Genji guy?” McCree said, drawling his name with an intentional mispronunciation.

Hanzo began wrapping bandages around McCree’s body, rougher than he needed to be. “You are not worthy to speak his name,” he said. It left no room for argument, or questions, or anything other than a tightly wound kernel of fear in Jesse’s stomach.

When Hanzo finished tending to McCree, tucking the bandage in on itself instead of using a metal fastener, he left the tube he’d had unused on the bedside table and simply stood. At first McCree thought he was going to walk away without another word, but then he hesitated at the door. “I will be back before long. Try not to soil this room, as there is a bathroom nearby I will help you to if need be.”

With that, he slid out of the smallest opening in the door he could manage, and McCree was left alone again. In considerably less pain, fed and watered and no longer concussed, but alone. He couldn’t have been more glad.


	4. God Damn These Bite Marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: Footjob, dominance and submission, virginity kink. This chapter was meant to have more plot in it, but Hanzo and McCree are assholes with more libido than is probably healthy. Also, I've decided that this version of OW exists in a world where medical treatments for STDs are so good that no one has to worry about them, mostly so I can have an excuse to continue forgetting condoms lol.
> 
> Off topic, but would anyone be interested in fic rec exchanges? As in, I recommend fic to you, you recommend fic to me?Cause that would be rad, but normal comments are equally rad, and my recommendations would likely be weird as hell anyway.

“You know,” McCree said, after God knew how long of Hanzo sitting in the desk chair across the room and ignoring him. “If you want another blow job, all you have to do is ask.”

Hanzo started, eyes widening in a way that let McCree know some part of him wanted to blush. He had been sitting, silently reading a book, since he’d tied up McCree again after his short bathroom break. The bathroom break itself had been unpleasant, tense in a way that half had to do with McCree’s raw, stiff back, and half had to do with the taser Hanzo had pointed at him at all times.

Tension was preferable to the insufferable _boredom_ though, so McCree risked Hanzo walking out of the room and kept running his mouth off. “Or anythin’ else really, I’m amenable,” he winked, took in the tendon jumping in Hanzo’s neck without comment.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt indebted to Hanzo. Even after everything Hanzo had done to hurt him (that was just what captors _did,_ it was his _job_ ) it felt like McCree owed something for the care he’d received. And, well, he knew a blow job was a pretty good trade off.

But unbelievably, Hanzo didn’t even look tempted. He simply looked back down at his book, though McCree could tell he wasn’t reading it anymore. He considered bringing up the Genji guy again, but he wasn’t quite _that_ bored yet. Instead, he tried for something that felt more risky, despite the fact that he knew it wasn’t.

“Those dragons,” he said, putting in a not-negligible effort to sound less antagonizing. “They’re the symbol of the Shimadas, aren’t they?”

Tilting his head to look at his own arm, Hanzo’s brow furrowed. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose that is well known.”

McCree shifted his weight on the bare mattress, more uncomfortable with normal conversation than with the fucking torture. Jesus, he needed to get it together; he’d had to do weirder things to survive, he could handle talking to Hanzo Shimada as if he didn’t want to get him killed. “Not really. We did our research before the hit. You’re not all that famous ‘round these parts just yet.”

It sounded like a hint, like a tidbit of information Hanzo had charmed out of him, and McCree could tell from the light suddenly in Hanzo’s eyes that that was what he thought it was. It wasn’t. It was effectively useless, something a toddler could have intuited. McCree had no doubt Hanzo had already figured it out.

“You are famous,” said Hanzo, finally closing the damned book and pushing it away from him on the desk. “Your marksmanship is extraordinary.”

“More like infamous,” Jesse snorted. “And it ain’t like I’m doing anything unheard of. I ain't seen someone use a _bow and arrow_ on the battlefield before.”

He’d meant to allow more bite into his tone than actually ended up in it. Hanzo had been impressive, there was no getting around it. McCree might be better at the captive-captor game than Hanzo was, but on the battlefield he thought they might be equals.

The light in Hanzo’s eyes grew at the compliment, weirdly golden and bright, until McCree broke eye contact to look at his own hand on the bed. Sloppy, but he could afford to be a bit sloppy. “You use a… revolver?” Hanzo said, voice tilting up in a way McCree knew meant he was unsure of the word. “Yet the heavy recoil never seemed to bother you, and you shot with the weaker arm. Why?”

That was a question McCree couldn’t answer. He was suddenly, sharply glad he’d looked away from Hanzo, so that he couldn’t see the look on his face easily. Jesse couldn’t say, _Because I learned to shoot with one arm. Because we don’t all get prosthetics the moment we need them. Because I trust my flesh better than I trust metal any day. Because there is nothing, nothing at all you have done that’s crippled me. Because that arm was a luxury, and I don’t **need** it._

Aloud, he replied, “No one expects a revolver to snipe them.” His tone was wry, and betrayed none of the feelings roiling in him.

“People expect arrows even less,” Hanzo said. He sounded amused, but also _interested,_ as if he truly wanted to be talking to a guy he’d ordered to be raped. Wonders never ceased.

“We ain’t all got access to fancy, high tech arrows.” McCree finally met Hanzo’s gaze again, retreated back into his cocky facade. “Though I suppose we ain’t all got somethin’ to compensate for, either.”

The insult almost didn’t land, but McCree had the delight of seeing puzzlement morph into a blankness that meant fury as Hanzo pieced together what he meant. Once again, though, Hanzo surprised him. “You did not seem much larger than average, last I saw.”

Grin spreading slowly, McCree stretched his legs out on the bed, allowed himself to sprawl as best he could without actually laying back and aggravating his wounds. “You didn’t see me ready and rarin’ to go, didya?”

Hanzo’s eyes slid down from Jesse’s face, but only made it to around his navel before snapping back up. Still, it was enough to leave Jesse’s grin more sharklike than before. “Are you offering me a show?” Hanzo asked, something about the question darkly hinting that the correct answer was _no._

But McCree didn’t much care for being correct. “Why not, sweetheart?” He didn’t bother to try for demure, instead knew with certainty that he could pull off predatory when he wanted to. “You might not want my mouth right now, but you never said anything about my cock.”

When he said the last word he clicked his tongue on the K, watched the way Hanzo’s eyes drifted down for another moment with dark satisfaction. McCree knew he was something nice to look at, even with a swathe of bandages across his torso. He hadn’t been kept in captivity long enough for his thick muscles and soft layer of fat to melt away, and he’d fought too hard for his body to not know what it could do to someone.

Thinking back to Hanzo’s reaction to teeth on his dick, McCree supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that he was more tempted by this offer than his first. And he wasn’t bluffing about being hung, either. Still, he wasn’t certain the ploy had worked until Hanzo stood and walked to the bed, legs stiff and knees jerky in a way that was kind of funny, given that they were mechanical and there were no muscles there to tense.

As Hanzo approached McCree swung his legs over the side of the bed, so that he was sitting on the edge. It meant he had to rest his hand awkwardly behind him, though, which didn’t exactly mesh with what he had in mind. “You got your taser?” McCree said, staring up at Hanzo’s neatly-groomed face and trying to ignore how badly he suddenly wanted a razor.

“Yes,” Hanzo said, sounding the word out as though it was somehow a trick question. But Jesse only nodded, satisfied.

“Untie my hand,” he said. He didn’t bother making it sound like a suggestion, and he got a clenched jaw for it, but he soldiered on. “You make this good, and I’m gonna want to be able to grab onto somethin’. Can’t do that so well like this, and you can tase me if I make a move you don’t like.”

Once again, Hanzo did as he said with all the pained obedience that McCree himself felt, most of the time. It was strange, as if there was an exchange of power occurring that even he hadn’t planned for. “Do not make me regret giving you this freedom,” said Hanzo.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it,” McCree replied, only shifting his hand far enough to brace himself. Grabbing Hanzo’s hair or face would have to wait until he was more settled.

With a grace that was at odds with Hanzo’s usual movements around McCree, he sank to his knees between Jesse’s spread legs, bringing his face level with his cock. He hesitated before bringing his hands up to Jesse’s hips and tugging his sweatpants down. For whatever reason he hadn’t gotten McCree any underwear, so it was only a second before Hanzo could tug McCree’s dick free in a surprisingly gentle grip.

Each of his motions was decisive, but there was always that pause before and after, as if he was measuring McCree’s reactions. “Has it been a while?” Jesse said, “Or are you just not used to giving what you get, Shimada?”

Brown eyes glared up at him, and Jesse wondered if Hanzo was simply easier to read when he was beneath him, or if he was getting used to his reactions. “It has not _'been a while,'_ ” he hissed, offended. And then before McCree could answer his hand had wrapped firmly around McCree’s soft dick and he’d begun lapping at the head.

His movements were sloppy, and even as McCree began to harden under his attentions he had to wonder why Hanzo had taken that particular comment to heart. But then a hand was slipping down to palm his balls, and Hanzo was licking up and down the shaft, and Jesse’s head tilted back until it bumped the wall. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to wonder.

“Damn,” he said, “for a guy who ain’t used to this, you’re pretty good.” He could feel the prickle of Hanzo’s gaze on him, but he didn’t tilt his head down, even when Hanzo’s free hand came up and pressed the taser against his side.

After another of those pauses, during which McCree actually kept his mouth shut for once, Hanzo opened his mouth and began to sink down on Jesse’s dick. But then Jesse was grabbing Hanzo’s hair, quite without having meant to, and pulling him off. “Teeth, teeth, teeth,” he said, calming down near the third one. “We don’t all like a little pain mixed in there.”

Scowling, Hanzo jerked his head out of McCree’s grip. “I know,” he said, nearly growling. He didn’t disagree with what Jesse had implied about pain, though, when he began again. Sucking and bobbing shallowly, Hanzo had barely begun a rhythm before McCree found himself staring down at the dark head of hair, lust curling in his stomach and his dick flushing with blood.

Jerking his head back in surprise, Hanzo stared between McCree’s legs. It was always satisfying seeing the reaction he got when people realized he wasn’t bluffing. “Nice, ain’t it?” He said, biting back a laugh when Hanzo simply glared at his dick.

More slowly than ever, Hanzo leant back in. His hand had stilled on Jesse’s balls and simply rested there, sandwiched between Jesse’s body and his pants. He couldn’t imagine that it was very comfortable, but then, neither was focusing half of your attention on giving a blow job while focusing the other half on holding a taser to someone’s side.

When Hanzo had started a rhythm once again, barely making it halfway down McCree’s dick before he ducked back up, McCree shifted so that his hand rested on Hanzo’s head. The yakuza stiffened, but didn’t stop moving, so Jesse untied the long ribbon from his hair and combed his fingers through his locks.

Carefully, he began directing Hanzo’s motions. He pushed him just a bit further on the downstroke, sped him up as he pulled back. Amazingly, Hanzo didn’t seem like he was inclined to protest at all, and McCree had a sudden mental image of him choking Hanzo out on his cock so that he could escape.

Then his back twinged, and Jesse shoved the thought away. He wasn’t ready to condemn himself to death today. Hanzo’s mouth around him felt _good,_ hot and tight and so much better for the way Hanzo allowed him to control it. He’d always preferred being in charge.

Pleasure lanced through him when he felt the tight clench of Hanzo’s throat against the head of his cock. Hanzo pulled back hurriedly, gagging, and McCree let him almost all the way off before his hand fisted in salt and pepper locks. Brown eyes met his again, pupils swallowing the iris so that it no longer looked like a glare at all.

“Damn,” McCree muttered again, wishing abruptly that he could rub his fingers along Hanzo’s swollen lips without letting go of his long hair. “Anyone ever tell you how good you look with a cock in your mouth?”

Moaning, Hanzo tried to pull back again, but the sound only increased in volume when McCree wouldn’t let him. It was clear from Hanzo’s widened eyes that neither of them had expected _that,_ but McCree was finding it hard to concentrate on the revelation. What with his cock so hard it was surely dripping precome into Hanzo’s mouth and all.

Next time Hanzo went down, McCree had to force him to push that extra half-inch that would let him feel the fluttering of Hanzo’s throat. It was _good._ It was _damn_ good. Gritting his teeth, McCree felt the pleasure curling in his gut, and tried to force Hanzo back up again.

 _Tried_ being the operative word, because Hanzo unbelievably didn’t seem to want to let him go. He got him off, finally, but that last slow drag of suction along his length had been enough to have him coming all over Hanzo’s face. His spine curled, hand tugging on Hanzo’s hair until he made a soft sound, but the taser at his side stayed silent even as pulses of come dripped onto Hanzo’s cheeks and still-open lips.

“Fuck,” Jesse swore, voice breaking. “Gotta be careful there partner. If I’d come in your throat without you bein’ used to that shit, it wouldn’t have been pleasant.”

Cheeks bright red with and eyes still blown with lust, Hanzo didn’t exactly look like he was listening. But as the aftershocks fizzed to a stop, McCree considered his own words and assumptions, and he could feel something tickling at the edges of his consciousness. Some truth he couldn’t figure out just yet.

“Okay,” he said as he tried his hardest to even his breathing. “Your turn sweet-cheeks.” Hanzo blinked up at him, face still covered in come, and Jesse allowed himself a smirk at his own joke.

Sliding one foot down between Hanzo’s legs was easy, as it turned out, because he’d spread them just slightly at some point during the blow job. And it was obvious why, when the ball of Jesse’s foot pressed into his dick. He was so hard; it was a wonder why he didn’t give blow jobs more often, since he clearly loved them.

Again, he felt that niggling thought in the back of his head, but it was easy to push aside. McCree focused his attention on Hanzo’s upturned face, his half-lidded eyes and creamy come that caught on his tongue when he licked his lips. It wasn’t a half bad view, and only got better as he ground his heel down carefully and watched Hanzo moan again.

As footjobs went, it was lazy. Jesse’s limbs all felt loose with satisfaction, and he didn’t even bother getting Hanzo to remove his clothing. Hell, he was only using one foot. But Hanzo still responded, albeit in a strange way that involved confusion crossing his face every once in a while, before it was chased off by pleasure again.

Warmth curled in his gut once more when Hanzo came with a _whine_. It hadn’t taken very long at all, just like when McCree had given him a blow job, and that only made the warmth deepen into a soothing heat. It was nothing like the radiating heat from his inflamed back; it was soft, and sated as he was it was welcome.

“There’s a good boy,” McCree said mockingly, knowing he’d get away with it. The way Hanzo was gazing at him, the fact that it could be described as _gazing,_ meant that he could get away with a whole lot of shit, at the moment.

Unfortunately, the moment broke. Hanzo lifted his hand to his face and touched his sticky cheek, then looked at his hands. Come and a taser. He looked back up at McCree, opened his mouth, and then somehow managed to floor both of them.

“Your tattoo,” he said, “is it a symbol of your family, like mine?”

 _Tattoo._ McCree’s eyes flit to Hanzo’s arm, but his hand went up to touch his own shoulder. He’d _forgotten._ Which was reasonable, considering he’d had it for nearly thirty years and it was on his back and people who didn’t know about it already didn’t often have the opportunity to see it, but--

 _David._ The name was on the tip of his tongue. Instead of voicing it, he said, “No.”

Staggering to his feet, Hanzo barely glanced at McCree before he took his hand, tugged it down to where the rope lied discarded. Even dazed, he knew his knots well, and before Jesse could protest he was tied again. Hanzo walked to the bathroom with steps that grew more steady by the second, and McCree was left feeling the burn in his back as though Akio was still whipping him.

Determinedly, he did _not_ wonder how much of the tattoo had survived under his new scars.

_____

Several hours after Hanzo had left McCree with a glass of water on the bedside table and a promise to be back later, he finally figured out what the hell had been bugging him. Admittedly, he probably should’ve been thinking of escape routes, but the thought of leaving made him think of the tattoo again and he was a fucking coward, so he was avoiding it.

Turned out, the mystery that was Hanzo’s reactions wasn’t much of a good distraction at all. Because he certainly wasn’t innocent, considering how he’d been able to watch his subordinates rape McCree so casually, but he sometimes _acted_ like it. As if he wasn’t just out of practice when it came to sex that directly involved him, but he was actually _inexperienced._

It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Hanzo might’ve been kept “pure” because he was the heir. Maybe yakuza wanted their sons to wait until marriage or something of that nature. It seemed kind of asinine to McCree, but what did he know.

More importantly, though, was what it meant for McCree. As fucked up as the situation had already been, it now felt like Jesse had stepped out of bounds. He was in unfamiliar territory, unable to stop the fear from racing through his head that he might’ve been the first guy Hanzo had ever sucked off.

Firsts were kind of important to McCree. He didn’t want to be involved in ruining someone’s chances of ever knowing what it felt like to have someone’s hands on them and want it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have long to sit and think before the door opened again, wider than it did when Hanzo came and went. It looked like there might be a _courtyard_ on the other side, instead of a hallway, and McCree had just long enough to wonder where the hell he was before he noticed the shock of green hair and the quiet sound of wheels on wood.

“Hey Genji,” he said with a wry smile. The bandages over Genji’s face shifted as if he was smiling back, and McCree wasn’t even annoyed at how often he was getting these odd visits anymore.


	5. A Bridge to Nowhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: Outdoor sex and intercrural sex. Also, not a tag but totally should be: Genji and McCree are bros.
> 
> As always, every comment is a treasure! And I always respond to every comment thread at least once, no joke, so please don't be shy!

Genji didn’t waste time fucking around reading when he entered. “You had a mechanical arm when you fought Hanzo, did you not?” He said, closing the door behind him with some small difficulty. His voice was all business, though, so McCree didn’t bother mocking him about it.

“Yup,” said McCree. “Then the asshole took it, and here we are.” Genji was harder to read than the rest of his family, thanks in part to the bandages obscuring his face, so McCree wasn’t sure what he meant by the nod he gave.

Staring at Jesse with calculating eyes, Genji said, “Was that arm yours?” McCree blinked in surprise, but otherwise managed to keep his face as dryly amused as before. He didn’t like people he couldn’t read reading him.

“I stole it, if that’s what you’re asking,” McCree said. But even before he was done speaking Genji was shaking his head, bandaged fingers drumming a beat on the armrest of his chair. He must’ve been scarred _badly_ if he wanted every inch of himself wrapped up like that, even when he obviously wasn’t in much pain.

“No, I--” Genji took a deep breath and touched a hand to his stomach. But his eyes were flinty, like he wasn’t hesitating so much as stomping down angry words. “Did it feel as though it was a part of you?”

Jesse inhaled sharply at that, but Genji didn’t so much as shift a single muscle while he waited. Suddenly, Jesse found himself thinking, _poor kid._ Which was ridiculous because Genji seemed to be close to his age. “Not for a long time,” said Jesse.

“Why did you want it, then?” Genji asked. “If it wasn’t going to feel like yours?” That steel-hard gaze met his, as unflinching as the rest of Genji was. Kid was _sharp,_ if he knew to ask questions like that.

He considered lying, but as secrets went, it wasn’t a particularly important one. Hell, they might’ve figured it out already, depending on what they’d found with their research. And, he realized with some surprise, he _liked_ Genji’s barely restrained bitterness. He deserved the truth. “My bro thought I’d be more useful if I could do shit more, ah, effectively.”

It wasn’t quite right; David had more detailed reasons than that, and McCree had been plenty effective beforehand. But it was hard to explain the details without giving too much away, and Genji was already staring at him, gold eyes wide. “Then we are the same,” he said (so he _was_ Hanzo’s brother, McCree hadn’t been sure).

“Not quite,” McCree pointed out. “Hanzo’s got those legs too, doesn’t he? You think he doesn’t get that it ain’t easy?” He wasn’t sure why he was defending Hanzo, except that the way Hanzo used his cybernetics in battle was a work of art, and he must’ve had to work to know the strength in his new knees that well.

“He _doesn’t,_ ” Genji said. Not quite angry, but not resigned either. Jesse wished, again, that he could have seen Genji’s face just to know what he was thinking. “He bought his new legs the same week he lost his old ones; he never went without.”

Raising his eyebrow, McCree said, “If you’re wantin’ to talk 'bout ‘going without,’ you’ll have to find another cripple. That arm is extra, I’m fine without it.”

At that Genji’s body language finally showed _some_ predictability. Muscles quickly tensed before he could focus them into relaxation again, his head cocked to the side a bit too sharply to be casual. Almost made it worth fucking up and telling him something like that.

“What do you mean?” Genji asked, over-enunciating. McCree wondered what he was hiding, behind that mask of injury.

“I mean I ain’t missing bits,” Jesse said, because he’d already dug his grave and might as well lie in it. “I’m whole like this, and when I’ve got the arm I’m just Jesse McCree plus one limb, y’know?”

From the way Genji’s fingers curled into claws, he didn’t know. “That’s easy for you to say,” he said. “You never relied on cybernetics to keep you alive.”

“Fair,” McCree said. Blinking, Genji leaned back in surprise, obviously not expecting McCree to just agree with him. And then he tilted his head back and _laughed._

It was an ugly laugh, rusty like he hadn’t used it in a long time and angry like how _dare_ Jesse draw it out of him, but that only made Jesse want to join in more. And since he wasn’t a bratty teenager with a chip on his shoulder anymore, McCree’s laugh was much more sincere. “You are a strange one, McCree,” Genji said when he was done, light glittering in his eyes.

They didn’t talk long after that, but McCree decided that Genji wasn’t too bad. He reminded McCree of himself in an odd way, though Jesse had never rebelled against his brother like Genji did. He didn’t see why Genji would want to, with the way Hanzo had rushed to his defense when he’d thought Genji was injured. Hell, he probably fixed McCree up to appease him.

Even a short conversation felt long after so much time spent either getting fucked or getting fucked up, with very little talking involved either way. To his surprise, Genji opened the door to leave around the same time that McCree started feeling tired. “I’ll remind Hanzo to bring you food the next time he visits,” Genji said on his way out. “He does have a habit of being forgetful.”

“Must be a big brother thing,” McCree replied, getting one more of those awful laughs out of Genji. In other circumstances, they might have become friends, McCree thought. But then he looked at his bound wrist, and tasted something bitter in his mouth.

_____

Hanzo barged into the room with fierce anger in his eyes and a tray of food in his hands. He dropped it carelessly on the bed, soup sloshing dangerously in its bowl but thankfully not spilling onto the sheets. “What do you want with Genji,” Hanzo demanded.

Staring down at the food with exaggerated longing proved to not be an effective way to get Hanzo to at least untie him so he could eat while they talked without shoving his face in the bowl. Well, if he wanted to play it that way, McCree could do that. “Thought I wasn’t supposed to say his name.”

Teeth gritted so hard McCree could swear he heard them cracking. “Are you planning to use him to manipulate me? I warn you--”

“Nah.” McCree shook his head, lazy and amused. “First of all darlin’, I’m not gonna rely on a brat for that. Second, I ain’t an asshole when people weren't assholes to me first.”

Hanzo’s hands fisted at his sides clearly broadcasted how doubtful he was. “If you ever do _anything_ to hurt him, you will find yourself regretting it in very short order.”

Politely inclining his head, McCree said, “Got it.” For the second time that day, he got to surprise a Shimada brother; it was surprisingly satisfying. Hanzo rocked back on his heels, hesitated, then brought his hands to the short rope McCree was beginning to really _hate_ and untied it.

Still, Hanzo seemed tense. He obviously hadn’t expected McCree to plead innocent so convincingly, which actually made McCree kind of sad. Was he that bad of a liar, or was Hanzo weirdly naive for a crime lord? Either one was disheartening, though the second kind of shouldn’t have been.

Casually, McCree brought the bowl to his lips and slurped straight from it, ignoring the spoon on the tray entirely. Hanzo scowled at that, but he also turned and walked to the chair stiffly, then sat in it like he wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing it. Well, at least he wasn’t looming anymore.

Once Jesse was done with the soup (it wasn’t ramen, thank God, because hehated ramen; instead it was something with tofu and seaweed that he wasn’t familiar with, but kind of liked) McCree set the bowl down with a clatter and leaned back. His back still hurt, but he stone-faced his way through it, even if he had to take deep breaths.

“Wanna know what we were talking about?” McCree said eventually, when Hanzo simply stared without speaking. Just to give himself something to do he grabbed the glass of water on the tray and sipped at it. If it had the added advantage of obscuring his face, that was a bonus.

“I can guess,” Hanzo said grimly. It occurred to Jesse that he wasn’t even trying to give the impression of being emotionless, which was… disturbing, actually.

All too soon, Jesse was out of water, and no more topics of conversation had materialized. Hanzo didn’t look like he was about to leave either, not with the way he wasn’t budging from his chair. “Alright,” McCree said, setting the glass down and smirking at Hanzo. “What else are you here for?”

Bristling, Hanzo said, “I do not need a reason to want a reminder that I captured a famous sharpshooter. It is quite a satisfying feat.”

“Aw, hon,” said McCree with a shake of his head. “You ain’t that much of an asshole.” Hanzo glared, but didn’t respond, so McCree ran his hand through his disheveled hair and continued. “We can fuck, if you want.”

“No,” Hanzo bit out. Jesse shrugged at him; Hanzo hadn’t really seemed in the mood anyway, but it had been worth a try.

“Wanna spar?” He tried again. “I know you’ll have to like, get a grunt to hold a gun on me to make sure I don’t run off, but that courtyard out there’s got plenty of space for it.

Almost before McCree was done speaking, Hanzo was staring at him suspiciously. But he looked tempted, too, and McCree decided he probably should assume Hanzo would always pick the more insane option. Case in point, the way he glanced at the door and was clearly thinking of the courtyard beyond it.

“There is no need for a ‘grunt,’” Hanzo said confidently. “If you look away from me long enough to try to escape, I will have already defeated you.” And then he-- fuck, he _was_ opening the door. Sure, the courtyard only had one other door that McCree could see, and it was probably locked, but fuck.

Sunset was staining the sky red and orange and a little bit pesticide-purple. Near some kind of agriculture? Jesse couldn’t remember where the nearest farms were if he’d tried, since they’d never been theft targets, but it was a possible hint. Unfortunately, the roofs were all rather high and the walls were smooth.

For the first time since Hanzo had taken it, McCree wanted his arm back. Maybe not as badly as a shave and a hairbrush and a cigar, but the desire was there. When he ripped his eyes away from the roof ledges, Hanzo was _smirking at him._

Graceful in a way he never was when it came to sex, Hanzo strode into the middle of the grassy area. It was probably intended to be a picnic spot or somewhere to pose for photos or whatever the hell people with this much money did with all this space. Jesse didn’t particularly care; when he saw Hanzo in the middle of it, it was a battlefield.

On feet that were embarrassingly weak, Jesse followed him. He hadn’t walked in too long, he needed to properly stretch before doing anything strenuous. Luckily Hanzo seemed to be on the same page, and he was finding interesting ways to keep an eye on McCree while he stretched. Turned out he was even more flexible than Jesse had first realized.

“You did not expect me to agree,” Hanzo said as he bent one of his arms at an angle that made McCree wince. He set in on his own stretches, getting his legs done first.

“‘Course not,” he said. “You ain’t an idiot, usually.” Normally the insult would at least make Hanzo tense, but he stayed loose as he readied himself for a fight.

With a sinking stomach, McCree realized what this might mean. Comfortable with sparring, even when he was going up against a man who had every reason to want to kill him to get out. Not comfortable with giving or receiving a blow job.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Jesse said eventually, doing his best to just not _think_. Luckily, sparring was usually good for that. Got his muscles moving, his brain focused on nothing other than weak spots and--

A foot was already flying towards his head, shiny metal that would crunch against his skull if Hanzo threw his full weight into it. McCree ducked mostly on instinct, but a fist was already coming up towards his stomach. _Oof._ , was Hanzo even faster than he remembered?

Turned out, neither of them fucked around when it came to sparring. Must’ve been the fact that they both knew they’d use their skills, or maybe the knowledge that if McCree could win this bout he might be able to _escape,_ but either way they weren’t exactly pulling punches. Hanzo even knocked him onto his bad side at one point, forcing him to land on his stump.

Which only made it more satisfying, of course, when McCree rolled with it, knew to exhale when he landed and grabbed Hanzo’s ankle to drag him down with him. It was stupid, how everyone wanted to pin him by the maimed side; it always left his hand free.

Too quickly, though, McCree’s back began pounding with the strain and occasional blows landing on it. His muscles were tiring long before they should, his mind was buzzing with the effort of reminding himself that he didn’t have one arm and he’d have to fight like he used to. He was far from his best, and it grated.

Despite that, he was holding his own against Hanzo. Which meant either that Hanzo was going easy on him, or that he was better than Hanzo in a one on one fight. Or both. That was a dangerous thing to hope for, though, so McCree focused on dodging, on the short rush of satisfaction when he popped Hanzo in the jaw (Jesse fought dirty, Hanzo had figured that out relatively fast).

All at once, Hanzo had grabbed him by the hair and yanked him down hard. Their faces were level, close together, and McCree was about to grab at Hanzo’s own ponytail when their lips met. Hanzo bit as much as he kissed, sloppy and, yeah, unpracticed, but it felt _good_ with the adrenaline rushing through him, even when Hanzo hooked one foot behind him and unbalanced him, forcing him to sit hard on the ground. Ow, his poor ass.

He didn’t have long to think about the bruises he’d shortly have before Hanzo was kissing him again, fierce and-- was this the first time they’d kissed? Was this the first time McCree had kissed anyone since he’d been captured? What did it _mean?_

As always, Hanzo was rather good at forcing McCree’s brain to just _shut up._ He manhandled him onto his hand and knees, but then he was putting pressure on McCree’s bad shoulder and he couldn’t brace. He went down with a breathless laugh, his back arched and cheek in the grass. “Guess you like playin’ rough more than I thought,” said McCree.

“The way you fight is--” Hanzo bit the nape of his neck, draped himself over McCree’s bent body. Jesse could feel the hard line of his cock prodding at the back of his thighs. “Very _tempting._ ”

Had that been why Hanzo had captured and visited him in the first place? Something in his fighting style, but what the hell could it be? “Well, why not give in to temptation then, darlin’?” McCree wiggled his hips, knowing how enticing he could be.

Reaching underneath McCree, Hanzo palmed at his cock through his pants. He stiffened all over; he hadn’t expected that, and Hanzo pulled back suddenly. Not far enough to cut off all the contact between them, but Jesse could no longer feel his arousal pressed against him. “What is wrong?” He asked, confused instead of concerned, thank God.

“I’m not that into takin’ it sweetheart,” McCree said wryly as he forced his muscles to relax. “Since when does that bother you?”

Instead of replying, Hanzo yanked down McCree’s pants. Well, he supposed that could work as an answer. He heard the pop of a lid and slick sounds behind him, presumably as Hanzo slicked his fingers. He had planned this, hadn’t he? Oh, sometimes he was better than McCree gave him credit for.

But when fingers went up to grip McCree’s bare thighs, they were dry and warm. A flash of fear moved through him, _was Hanzo going to fuck him without preparation_ , but then Hanzo was maneuvering his thighs together and the fear was chased away by confusion.

Then Hanzo was pushing between his thighs, and McCree was grinding his face into the ground to see beneath himself. “Oh,” he said, stunned stupid. Hanzo only chuckled as he draped himself over McCree’s burning back once again.

As Hanzo slowly thrust in and out, lube sticking to McCree’s thighs and dripping down, he felt his wilting erection rise again. He thought this might be how Hanzo had felt, kneeling at the side of his bed. He had never been fucked quite like _this_ before.

Which was a damn shame, Jesse thought as he flexed his thighs and heard Hanzo moan. Because his thighs were, in his personal opinion, quite an asset; strong with muscle and soft with fat, thick body hair brown and warm and inviting. From the way Hanzo was panting against his spine, the yakuza clearly agreed.

Strangely, it felt almost as good as it felt _flattering._ The wet heat teasingly dragging along his cock when Hanzo’s brushed it, the sensitive tingling down his legs, it was all new and pleasant. And, most importantly, it didn’t hurt.

That thought, though, sent McCree reeling. All at once he wanted it to be _over._ “C’mon darlin’,” McCree teased. “You can do better than that. Give it to me _hard._ ”

Shifting his grip so that his hands were pressing bruises into McCree’s hips, Hanzo obliged. He started pumping his hips, not moving languidly at all anymore, and each time he slammed into McCree’s thighs he grunted. McCree flexed his thighs again, focused on the fact that he could feel the cool evening air on his skin when Hanzo leaned back for better leverage.

Grass was bitter on his tongue, when his mouth lolled open on a hard exhale. Somewhere, he could hear a bird chirping. It was ridiculous, he was so close to freedom, he could probably run at this point and Hanzo would be too slow to catch him before he made it through a door or window or onto a roof.

But his heart was pounding, his cock was leaking, he felt _alive._ Which was wrong, and dangerous, and shook him to the core. But at least he wasn’t alone in that, judging by the way Hanzo’s breathing was shaking.

For once Jesse didn’t say anything when Hanzo came. He felt the thick, warm stripes on his thighs, mixing with the lube, and he bit his tongue. Hanzo started to reach down to grip McCree’s cock, but Jesse was already standing, unsteady and unbalanced because he was used to having to compensate for a heavy, metal arm now. That was the only reason.

“Let me back in the cell,” McCree said, quietly. He didn’t shake as he bent, pulled the sweat pants up over his still sticky legs, over his hard cock. “I need to bathe.”

Eyes wide, Hanzo stared up at McCree. At first Jesse thought he was wavering, even though he was kneeling on the ground-- but, no, Jesse was the one whose weight was rocking from side to side, entirely without his saying so. He tried to stop it, but he couldn’t seem to find the willpower.

Finally, Hanzo stood and walked to the door. Not graceful, not stiff, just _tired._ McCree didn’t worry about it, it wasn’t his problem, except that when he walked into the room and waited for Hanzo to follow and tie him up again, all he heard was the door closing. _Click._


	6. Words are Weapons of the Terrified

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: past child abuse, knifeplay, starvation, sibling incest, and (drum-roll) Widowmaker! There's also caning, use of riding crops, and cigarette burns mentioned. The warnings are in full effect for this chapter, so remember that if it gets to be too much there's no shame in taking a break from reading.
> 
> If anything doesn't make sense (or a plot twist seems a bit too twisty) please tell me! I'm still a learning author and need all the help/critiques I can get. Thank you to everyone who's read and commented so far, and also whichever one of you sent my tags to ao3tagoftheday on tumblr. Don't think I didn't notice you! ^u^

It felt like every time McCree solved a mystery, a dozen more popped up in its place. Because he was pretty sure, now, that Hanzo wasn’t angling for information at all. In fact, he seemed very much like he wanted McCree _gone._

He turned up the shower as hot as it would go and scrubbed his skin as if it would never be clean again. Which was stupid, because he didn’t really feel dirty, and it wasn’t like they’d done anything more filthy than what he was used to. In fact, it was more like Hanzo had peeled the top layer of McCree’s skin off and revealed all the muck underneath.

Either McCree’s plan had worked better than he’d dared hope for, and he was just being an idiot not taking his opportunities, or Hanzo had never wanted him for information in the first place. Oh, he had no doubt Hanzo had tried to convince himself that was why he wanted McCree; he already knew the man lied to himself like a motherfucker. But it was clear when he spoke about Jesse fighting, when they sparred, that he hadn’t wanted information.

A pile of grass stained bandages lay crumpled right outside of the shower, but McCree stepped over them without looking when he got out. He walked to the tiny mirror, stared at himself with disdain, but couldn’t bring himself to turn to look at his back. He closed his eyes and gripped the edges of the sink with white knuckles.

There was no point in wondering anymore, really. Jesse could ask “why” until he was blue in the face, but he’d still only have the one guess. And it was one he didn’t want to think about, didn’t want to believe no matter how good it would be for his sake.

All at once he turned, glared at what he could see of his mauled back without really seeing any of it. It was healing, the bruising fading to sickly yellow and the welts scabbed and starting to scar in places. Those scars, and older ones, layered together to thoroughly ruin the brilliant red stallion that had once reared across his back.

Only one of the eyes was intact, but it seemed to stare back at McCree, baleful and accusing. He couldn’t see the extent of the damage, with the small mirror and awkward angle, but he could picture it in his head anyway. Guilt made his muscles so heavy that, even with his grip on the sink, he found his knees buckling.

For some reason, Hanzo felt as trapped in this damn manor of a house as McCree actually _was._ It was there in the way Genji spoke about him, in the few moments McCree had seen Akio and Hanzo together and Akio had clearly had the upper hand. _Did you enjoy yourself, cousin?_

So McCree was going to escape. His head hung, staring at the linoleum floor, and he felt not at all like someone who was about to get his freedom back. He wondered, abruptly, if Hanzo would leave with him.

Suddenly McCree felt like he was going to be sick. Swallowing hard, he forced his fingers to relax and turned towards the bedroom. Well, the room with a bed, at least. It didn’t feel anything like a place he’d want to sleep in if he had a choice.

Still, he lied down on his stomach, thin mattress and threadbare sheets beneath him. Hanzo kitted it out in the cheapest shit he could, but he still gave McCree a _bed._ The rope trailed down the side of it, limp and loose and wrong.

Maybe it was the emotional turmoil or the fact that McCree suspected he might not get the chance to sleep for a while after escaping, but he found himself falling unconscious almost as soon as his eyes closed. He hoped vehemently that he wouldn’t dream.

When he woke up, there was a plate full of rice and vegetables on the desk along with a glass of water. It probably should’ve made the hair along his spine raise to know someone had been in the cell while he’d been asleep, but the fact that it had probably been Hanzo only made him… well, he didn’t think sad was the right word. But he wished Hanzo had woken him up.

Shoveling the tasteless food in his mouth, McCree tried his hardest to shut his brain off. _As soon as I’m done,_ he promised himself, _I’ll test the door. See if there’s anything in her that can fuck up the lock._

He wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved when, halfway through the meal, Genji rolled in. “Howdy, stranger,” Jesse drawled around a mouthful of rice. Genji’s bandages shifted like he was smiling.

Over the next hour, Genji made it obvious that he knew more about classic video games than McCree did. He also made it obvious that he was hiding something. McCree wasn’t sure what he’d come for, but it likely wasn’t to talk about _games_. Not once did he mention Hanzo’s name.

“Did your brother ever play with you?” Genji asked, eventually. _Score._

“Yeah, he creamed me every time,” McCree said. Then he wiggled his stump pointedly, and watched as Genji let out another startled laugh. “Did yours?”

The laugh cut off abruptly. “Yes,” Genji bit out. Something _must_ have happened; he’d been angry before, but not this angry. “Though he rarely played at the arcade. They had a game there called Vivi’s Adventure, and while I was not particularly fond of it…”

They talked for twenty more minutes, and McCree didn’t bring up Hanzo again. By the time Genji left, muttering something about visiting again soon, Jesse was so drained he almost wanted to sleep again. He couldn’t, though, so instead he watched the door shut and then counted. When he reached two hundred, he tried the handle.

Locked. Of course. Hanzo might have wanted him out, but he couldn’t afford to just _let_ McCree out. His hold on his men seemed oddly tenuous, and it set McCree’s teeth on edge. If Akio went behind Hanzo’s back again, it could end very badly for him.

Haltingly, McCree began looking through the room for something useful. He checked the bathroom first, but he already knew there were no toothbrushes, no razors, only a bar of soap. He continued ignoring the bandages on the floor.

Despite the fact that the food hadn’t been terrible, his mouth tasted unbearably sour. He checked under the bed, but when that turned up nothing he froze, couldn’t bring himself to look at the desk. Hanzo had sat there, and Jesse hadn’t exactly watched him like a hawk when he was across the room. He could easily have snuck a key into one of the drawers.

Then the door slammed open, and it didn’t matter what was or wasn’t in the drawers. Akio was standing in the doorway, silhouetted against bright sunlight. “Did you miss me?” He asked, sounding delighted. And McCree knew, in an instant, that he only had one chance.

Diving for Akio, McCree tried to grab his pale green yukata and throw him over his shoulder, but something dug into his thigh and his leg abruptly gave out. For a moment, he thought of the taser, painful but harmless, and wondered if the adrenaline had drowned at the pain. Then he saw the black hilt and blood soaking his sweatpants, and realized what it was. A knife.

The emotionless yakuza that had helped Akio rape McCree shouldered his way into the room. It abruptly felt crowded, but Jesse couldn’t keep himself steady on his feet in time to take advantage of the fact that he knew how to fight in close quarters, he knew, he only had to--

With a chop to the back of his neck, the hulking man effectively stopped McCree from another escape attempt. The world went black so quickly Jesse couldn’t process much more than _fuck._

_____

McCree hadn’t thought of the rooms Hanzo had kept him in as particularly _nice_ until he awoke in the concrete box Akio had prepared for him. It was dark, only a single naked bulb above him, and it was damp in a way that made him suspect he was underground. He hoped he was in the same building as before, though he suspected the hope was rather empty.

From outside the metal door he could hear quiet voices. He recognized Akio’s smooth purr, but the woman he was talking to was unfamiliar. She spoke with an even cadence, but her accent was odd, French instead of Japanese. He supposed that explained why they were speaking English, but it didn’t do him much good.

Sound traveled well in the concrete room, but the door was thick and muffled most of the noises coming through. He made out occasional words, but they didn’t clue him into much. “Sharpshooter,” “assassin,” “Hanzo,” “Talon.” The last two kept coming up, over and over, and McCree could feel his stomach growing cold.

Talon was the kind of urban legend that everyone in the underground knew and hoped fervently was a lie. If they were real, if they were involved with the Shimadas (worse, with Akio) then Jesse would never get a chance to help Deadlock one last time. He was going to die a useless death, which made the stolen moments of life he’d had the past few days worse than meaningless.

When he’d awoken he’d stayed silent as he could, given that it took him under thirty seconds flat to realize that the way his arm was tied to his torso and his feet were tied together meant that he wasn’t getting out any time soon. So when the door gave a metal _thunk_ as it began to open, it was easy to close his eyes and pretend to be unconscious. One set of footsteps approached, another retreated, and the door closed again.

Then a hard, wooden sandal ground into his thigh (it had been bandaged and the knife had been removed, along with his pants) and Jesse couldn’t think to keep up the pretence before he found himself keening. “Rise and shine,” Akio said, smile clear in his voice. Jesse comforted himself with the reminder that he’d at least kept himself from screaming.

Akio increased the pressure on McCree’s stab wound until he opened his eyes and glared upwards balefully. “There we go,” said Akio approvingly. He had a knife in his hand, wicked sharp and serrated on one edge, terribly long.

There was also dried blood on it, and Jesse realized with a shudder that it was his own. Akio’s sharklike smile grew, and he said, “I hope Hanzo’s tender care hasn’t made you forget how to handle pain. You did so well last time, and I think you’ll find that if you bore me you won’t like the results.”

Opening his mouth to retort, Jesse found, was a very bad idea. His already pounding head was a white haze of agony for a moment after Akio’s foot connected with his nose. Blood poured down his chin as Akio clicked his tongue and said, “Much as I like a bit of a fight, I’m not in the mood for your mouth at the moment.”

Ordinarily that wouldn’t be nearly enough to shut McCree up, but Akio was stooping, and he still had that _knife_ in his hand. McCree had never seriously considered what it would be like to have his tongue cut out of his head, but there was a first for everything. As Akio rolled him onto his stomach with relative ease, Jesse tried to shut his brain off entirely.

Knowing that Akio wasn’t doing this for information made it worse. There was nothing noble in having to fight off the pain, not even the faux “nobility” that came with loyalty to an arms dealer. Worse, there was nothing McCree could do to make it stop.

A rope slid between the loops already binding his arm, burning the abraded skin of his back. Jesse hadn’t even noticed Akio holding the rope, but he supposed it was easy to miss that with the knife in his hand. Before long he found himself standing on his toes again, hoisted into the air on the rope, looped through a pulley which undoubtedly made the job easier on Akio than the steel hook had.

“I rather like you like this,” Akio said, taking McCree’s cheeks between his thumb and fingers and squishing them comically. Jesse only glared, sick to death of being a prisoner, sick of wanting to give up, sick of everything. Unfortunately, that seemed to only spur Akio on.

Slow enough to make Jesse’s skin crawl, Akio trailed the tip of the knife up his stomach. He started at his navel and went up to his collarbone, pressing so lightly that it didn’t break his skin yet. Goosebumps sprung up along McCree’s limbs, hair standing on end.

The first cut was a languorous thing that made Jesse want to howl. Akio used the smooth edge, only cut deep enough for McCree’s cold sweat to sting the wound, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than for the anticipation to _end._ Instead he grit his teeth and stubbornly didn’t make a sound.

Blood drying on his lips cracked every time his face shifted. It was an unpleasant feeling, but he didn't bother to hold back the instinct that told him to bare his teeth as Akio brought down the knife again. Every one of McCree’s muscles trembled, his feet struggling to hold his weight when they were bound at the ankle. The second cut was deeper, but only a few drops of blood beaded out.

Individually, none of the cuts were severe enough to worry McCree. But Akio lavished his chest and stomach with attention, as if he wanted to make the front of Jesse’s body as much of a mess as his back was. He was careful to avoid arteries as he continued cutting deeper, and the pain sank into McCree’s bones.

Despair was such a willing mistress when he realized Akio wasn’t going to let him die easily. It lapped at him each time Akio prodded the shallow wounds and sent stabbing pains through his body. He wanted to give up entirely, but it turned out that survival instincts were harder to fight than he’d thought.

Three rooms, three different forms of torture, and this might be the worst one. Akio’s knife slid, smooth as a dream, into the meat of his stomach, and every inch of McCree’s body focused on not swaying the smallest inch, on not allowing his ankles to give out. He couldn’t even get to bask in the victory of Akio’s slight disappointment before he was back to being cut to ribbons.

His torso was streaked with watery red, blood diluted by sweat. “You look nice like this,” Akio said consideringly. “But I think I know what can improve you.” And before McCree could focus too much on the words he was turning the knife so the edge was at an angle on his chest, and then Akio drew the blade down with a terrible, slow sawing motion.

In moments there was a small circle of McCree’s flesh on the ground. His chest burned much the way his back had when he was being flayed by the whip, only in a much smaller area. It shouldn’t have been as bad, but it reminded McCree of cigarette butts even with wet blood pouring down from flesh that wasn’t spongy or cauterized enough.

“What was that?” Akio said, and McCree realized with horror that he’d _spoken_. He locked his jaw so tightly he worried his teeth might crack, but it was better than the alternative. He had a sick feeling that he knew what he would say if he allowed his mouth to open.

Next, Akio took his left nipple. It _hurt,_ so much that Jesse was tempted to change his own definition of pain. What the fuck did a stubbed toe or papercut mean, when his body was a mess of half-healed scars?

It was a long time before Akio stepped back to admire his handiwork. The first few cuts felt like they might have already begun scabbing, but McCree didn’t look down to check. He hadn’t collapsed, hadn’t blacked out, hadn’t screamed. Even though he trembled like a horse run too hard for too long, it wasn’t the worst he’d been through.

“You’ll be more fun to break than I had hoped,” Akio said. He almost sounded admiring, but the thought of that turned McCree’s stomach more than the knife did when it was lowered to his skin once again. Everything was pain for a long time after that.

_____

Time was difficult to puzzle apart. At first because of the sameness of his surroundings, and then because of the haze of hunger that found him. He was fairly certain that Akio’s lackey brought him water once a day, so he did his best to keep track of that single, constant event.

For the first seven days of his new, much more restrictive captivity, Akio mostly ignored him. He only tortured McCree once more, with a flogger this time, and he seemed determined to wrap the tails around every inch of McCree’s ass and thighs. But with enough time between torments Jesse could recoup enough to put a halt to the instincts that screamed at him to beg for release.

Week two was when things became truly difficult. Hunger made his head fuzzy, and one day when Akio came in with a disgustingly huge dildo and a bottle of lube that was nearly empty, Jesse felt himself snap. He babbled requests for Akio to stop, please just _stop, why won’t you stop please it hurts--._

Pleased laughter shook him far enough out of it to allow him to bite his own tongue. He tasted blood, and realized with a jolt that he’d been begging in Spanish. It was better than begging in a language Akio could understand, but the message had been clear.

After that, Akio came more often. He had his lackey clean McCree and the room whenever McCree soiled it, and Jesse didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel bitter about it any more. “Please,” he mumbled. “Just kill me already.”

Cold concrete under him. Had he been put on the floor? The ropes fell away from his body, and hope welled in his chest. He would be killed now then, not left to starve, not tortured, not raped one more goddamn time.

Japanese was being spoken over his head as the thug gripped his arms and maneuvered him into some kind of article of clothing. It was silky, but his nerves begged for relief, and even the slight stimulation aggravated all the raw patches. Akio was speaking to him, but it was so hard to pay attention.

For the first time since Hanzo had ordered it, Akio fucked McCree. Not his mouth this time (Jesse wasn’t sure he was aware enough to properly suck anyway) but his ass, hard and without any preparation and hurting so badly he started sobbing. More words were crooned over him, things he didn’t understand and one he did. “Hanzo, Hanzo, Hanzo.”

Gagging, realization ripped through McCree. But there was nothing in his stomach to puke up, and Akio had finished inside him before Jesse could find the words to say what he wanted to say. He had to resort to a weak, “You’re sick,” as the door closed.

Lucidity came and went. “Did you know,” Akio said once, when McCree was aware enough to realize he was visibly pissed off. “There’s a French bitch out there who wants my dear cousin to work for her? He’s so vindictive, you see, she finds that _attractive._ ”

“No,” Jesse said. He wasn’t sure what he was saying no to, though. The thought of Hanzo joining Talon? Hanzo being vindictive, when he’d been so stupidly kind? Akio snorted derisively, clearly thinking it was the latter.

“No one told you how Genji got those scars, did they?” Akio asked, malicious glee on his face. “It turns out that Hanzo was more obedient than anyone thought. He threw a wrench in my plans, but it was such a _lovely_ wrench.”

Despair threatened again, and Jesse had to stare holes into the ground. “No,” he said, but it was a denial of something that sounded true. Perhaps it had been an accident; Hanzo didn’t seem the type to want to injure his brother so badly.

Would Hanzo kill Jesse, if he was ordered to? Who was there who held that sort of power over the head of the Shimada clan? He didn’t think Akio did, if he’d had to resort to subversion and plans, but what had he "planned?"

 _Hanzo,_ Jesse remembered. The name was nails on a chalkboard inside his head, it was soft snake eggshell that hid something venomous under it. He wanted Hanzo to find him. He never wanted to see Hanzo again.

Later, when Akio had taken his anger out on McCree with a thin cane that left weeping welts along his already bruised ribs, Jesse wondered if Hanzo would allow himself to be tortured if he was ordered to. He supposed that he didn’t know Hanzo well enough to know, but he had a guess when he remembered his legs.

Begging in Spanish became such a normal part of the pain that Jesse was no longer able to stop himself every time. It was worst when the riding crop came out, because that pain was _familiar._ It turned his brain around, made him smaller, and he was losing weight anyway, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been getting enough food lately, jobs had been scarce.

“David,” he said one day. The crop hitting his flesh paused, and McCree remembered that sometimes his foster brother preferred it when he spoke English. “It hurts.”

“That _is_ the point,” said a voice, but it wasn’t David’s, it wasn’t that deep rumble that sounded too old and the accent was all _wrong._ Jesse struggled weakly, but the blows began again with renewed vengeance-- renewed _glee._

Once, he woke to the sound of voices outside the door again. Had it been two weeks? Three? The French woman was there, and Akio, and another voice with a Japanese accent that McCree knew was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. They were having a serious conversation, voices pitched low, and as he strained to hear he thought he might have caught “Talon is making great strides in the subject of bioengineering post-birth.”

Before he could puzzle apart what the hell the sentence meant, a rumble rocked through the building. It sounded far away, but was followed by a loud crack as a fissure appeared on one wall, going down from the ceiling to the floor. McCree blinked at it, unsure when he’d opened his eyes.

“We’re under attack!” Called a voice from outside. It cracked twice with the force of the shout. Genji? “If I find out you are responsible for this, there will be no deal.”


	7. And You Thought the Lions were Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for today are handjobs/mutual masturbation, and inadvisable actions on diner floors, just for the hell of it :"") The bottle episode is officially over, folks! We also have a cameo, plot twists, and relatively serious injuries. Btw, have you noticed yet that I'm aiming for one sexual situation per chapter, because let me tell you work goes into making that happen.
> 
> Sidenote: I love every single one of my readers, you guys are making this story 1000 times more fun than it would be otherwise! It's the third most read fic I've ever written, which is awesome and just. Incredibly motivating. Thank you all!!

It was the second rumbling explosion that finally got McCree moving. His ankles were tied together, but his arm was free for some reason. It was hard to untie himself with a hand shaking from low blood pressure, but he managed.

Thinking of how docile he’d been, that Akio hadn’t felt the need to completely incapacitate him, threatened to send him back down into the fog of misery he’d been drifting in for weeks. He couldn’t afford that at the moment, with explosions going off above him. So instead he tried the door, and ignored how similar the handle felt to the one in the room Hanzo had locked him in.

Amazingly, it opened. McCree only felt victorious for one moment before nausea rocked up in him, and he dry-heaved, curling over on himself. He was wearing a ripped and bloodstained outfit that looked like Hanzo's, he realized. Part of him wanted to rip it off, but it was the only clothing he had.

Adrenaline was keeping the hunger haze away for the time being. McCree decided to take advantage of the stay of execution and bolted down the dank corridor, grey dust falling on his head as the ground shook. He took the metal stairs at the end of the hall two at a time, grateful that they had been so easy to find.

Even running, the pain was mild. Akio had shelled out big bucks for whatever shit he was treating McCree with. It had healed him fast, and while that had meant more torments with less time to recover, it also meant he could run now.

He pushed his way through the door on the first landing he came to, hoping it was the ground floor. It lead to a hallway that was much like the one he’d caught a glimpse of outside the first room he’d been held in; the walls were paneled in wood, occasional doors dotting them, no windows that he could see. Another hall branched off halfway through, though, so he darted towards it and hoped fervently that all the guards had gone to combat whatever threat was _bombing_ the damn place.

There were windows in this one, but all on the left side, and seeming to lead to a courtyard. It wasn’t the same, small one he’d been in with Hanzo, thank God, and this one _did_ have trellises with climbing plants on them. A feral smile filled McCree’s face as he opened the window and crawled through, not giving a damn about his _dignity_ any more.

When he made it onto the roof he took a moment to catch his breath, the strain pulling at his abused muscles making it hard to move even with the adrenaline helping. Then he steeled himself to look up, because he really couldn’t afford to sit there in the open when there were explosions nearby. But when he did raise his eyes and see the helicopter, the woman in a suit of armor fucking _flying,_ his brain all but went blank.

Pale grey and orange, an O and a W combined by someone who probably got paid a shit ton to figure out fancy ways to mash letters together. _Overwatch._ On the one hand, they were probably taking out every Talon agent in the area, including Akio. On the other…

McCree was a criminal, involved in organized crime, and he didn’t exactly fancy being taken captive when he was so weak he half expected to pass out as soon as the adrenaline rush wore off. As helpful as the attack was, he couldn’t rely on any side of it to not try to lock him up again. Luckily, the view from the roof taught him something else; the building itself was big, but it wasn’t quite huge, and the fighting at the front would obscure an escape from the back. He could be out in minutes.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized when he set off for the most direct route that it would take him past a familiar courtyard. Small, and almost intimate, with a door hanging open. The door he’d never been through, at least while he was conscious. The angle was bad to see into it, but when he hesitated for a split second he heard a voice muttering angrily in Japanese, and he closed his eyes.

Hanzo was a criminal too. Unbidden, he remembered the thought, the _would Hanzo leave with me?_

A loud crash from below broke his thought process, and before he could second guess himself he was swinging down, landing hard on his feet and running for the open doorway. It lead to a bedroom, large but sparsely furnished. Hanzo was on his knees in front of a heavy looking lockbox, blood caking half of his face and matting his hair to his head.

In all likelihood, he’d dropped the box when his legs suddenly gave out. The blood on his face and the fact that he hadn’t noticed McCree yet were a bad sign; he was probably concussed. And he’d been fighting, so Overwatch knew to look for him. Escaping with him could be suicide.

“Hey,” said McCree anyway, ignoring everything that screamed at him not to. “Hanzo, how do I open this.” Jesse padded closer on bare feet, the sounds of fighting far away but growing louder with each minute. Gunshots rang through the air, followed by another hollow boom.

For a terrifying moment, Hanzo only stared ahead with glazed eyes. Relief poured out of McCree in a torrent, though, when Hanzo’s gaze flicked to his. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and looked down at the box. McCree was, unfortunately, certain that it was too heavy and bulky to carry with him.

“Forty sixty two,” Hanzo said. He was dazed, almost slurring, but that was good enough for McCree. He deftly spun the combination to the right numbers, clicking the box open as fast as he could. The last shot he’d heard had been _close_.

Paper was piled high inside, most of what McCree could see looking rather official and important. Hanzo ignored all of it, however, instead digging through the documents until he found what he was looking for. It was a ball with an embroidered surface, intricate geometric shapes on it that reminded McCree of Hanzo’s tattoo. Closing his hand around it tightly, Hanzo looked up at McCree and nodded.

And then the idiot stood and walked towards the _wrong door,_ in the direction of the fighting. Jesse grabbed him by the arm and was thankful that Hanzo’s vision seemed to be shot when he barely dodged the fist aimed at his head. “You ain’t gonna survive if you go back out there,” Jesse said, blunt and rough.

“If I do not, I will be disgraced,” Hanzo spat. “Overwatch cannot destroy the whole of the Shimada clan here, and those that are left will never forgive me.”

“You left your bow,” said Jesse. Hanzo froze, his arm in Jesse’s hand going still as he stared at the ground next to the box. McCree could see the exact moment it occurred to him exactly how fucked they were.

Swallowing, Hanzo pulled away from Jesse’s grip. He no longer seemed panicked, so McCree let him go, watched as he grabbed his bow and reached behind himself to touch a worryingly empty quiver. “Better disgraced than dead,” McCree said.

Resignation was heavy on Hanzo’s face when he followed McCree back out into the private courtyard that-- shit, it was one of his rooms, wasn’t it? Jesse couldn’t let himself dwell on the possessiveness of it when Hanzo was already climbing up the wall, his hands occasionally slipping thanks to the concussion. If he could barely climb, he definitely couldn’t fight.

Luckily shitty hand-eye coordination didn’t weaken his muscles at all, so when he reached the roof he could lean down to help Jesse up. Without a trellis to wedge his feet into it was significantly harder, but he managed. Even if managing meant jumping from a thin windowsill, barely catching Hanzo’s hand. It was better than a close shave with a bullet, at least.

Racing across the rooftop together, McCree hoped with everything he had that whoever was in that helicopter wouldn’t notice them. The people fighting on the ground weren’t in the habit of looking up, in general, which is what made the woman in her suit of _flying fucking armor_ so effective. And, of course, she was only ever looking down.

God must have decided that Jesse deserved a break after the last couple of weeks, because they made it to the edge without incident. McCree made his way down first, figuring that if Hanzo slipped and fell he could at least break his fall. His body might’ve lost its soft layer of fat, but it was better than the gravel.

Hanzo did slip once, near the end, but he landed on his feet and didn’t even let go of the ball he’d been keeping a death grip on the whole time. McCree was at his side in a heartbeat, wrapping his arm around him. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Not just yet,” said a voice behind him. They froze, then turned in a motion so similar that it might have been funny in any other circumstances. There was nothing _funny_ about the look on Hanzo’s face when he saw Genji’s bandaged body, however.

It was the utter lack of surprise on Genji’s face that gave him away, the way he barely glanced over McCree and didn’t wince at what he saw. Even before Hanzo spoke, McCree knew what he was going to say. “Genji, what happened? You told me that McCree was--”

Disgust was so plain on Genji’s face when he looked at his brother that even McCree felt like he was reeling with it. Still, Jesse’s voice was steady when he spoke, almost dead. “Don’t suppose you’re gonna let us get the hell outta dodge, are you?”

“If you’d like,” Genji said. Hanzo tried to take a step towards him, but McCree held him back. He didn’t trust Genji as far as he could throw him. “But first, I have an offer. Would you join me, McCree?”

Shocked, Hanzo looked between the two of them. The concussion seemed to have knocked his emotions loose, so that they were as plain on his face as a child’s. It turned McCree’s stomach even more than the offer did. “You’re joining Talon,” he said flatly. “With Akio. And you think I want to be within fifty feet of that rapist?”

“Yes and no,” Genji clarified. “Akio is not a part of Talon. He’s a pawn, and a particularly easy to manipulate one. I could even offer you the chance to kill him, if you’d like.”

Shaking his head, McCree stomped down the betrayal that welled up in him. It made no sense. Genji owed him _nothing._ But he could see betrayal in the sheen of Hanzo’s eyes, too, and if Hanzo had really been the cause of Genji’s injuries then Genji didn’t owe him anything either. “If he’s a pawn,” said McCree, too tired to be angry. “Then why’d you have to give me up to him, to get an in.”

There was no guilt in Genji’s tone when he said, “Expediency. He hasn’t trusted me since he helped Hanzo cripple me.” And there Hanzo flinched, but Genji kept speaking, as if he hadn’t said anything unusual. “I didn’t want to spend time finding another Talon contact, when I had one right there who was so easy to manipulate.”

“Right,” McCree said dryly. “Well, if’n it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna say _fuck off._ ” A hard ball of anxiety sat in his empty stomach, but when he dragged Hanzo towards Genji, then past him, Genji made good on his word and didn’t stop them. He simply watched, gaze prickling on the back of McCree’s neck.

The chain-link fence they approached stretched in both directions, presumably going around the whole building, or compound, whatever it was. There was a small back gate nearby, which McCree thought was probably the reason Genji was there. Thankfully, whatever transport was coming to pick him up was at the very least not visible yet, and while McCree spared a panicked thought for cloaking technology, it still wasn’t visible when they made their way through, Hanzo’s clumsy fingers barely able to tap out the password.

Desert stretched around them, hot and dry and dusty. Fighting was still loud behind them, Genji was eerily silent, and McCree had a death grip on Hanzo’s occupied hand’s wrist. He had no idea where he was, and it felt like years since he’d last stepped outside the walls of that stupid, oversized house. But every time they stopped moving they both swayed alarmingly, so McCree picked a random direction and started walking.

His judgement wasn’t exactly at its soundest; there was a _lot_ of desert out there. But his brain felt like it was buzzing in his skull, maybe even swelling the way Hanzo’s definitely was. He kept remembering the way Genji had made him uneasy, with his unreadable face, the way he’d ignored it because that was what he did. Buried his head in the fucking sand like an idiot.

Either a higher power really was looking out for them or McCree had used up all his bad luck for the month, but they stumbled across an old, abandoned highway before half an hour was up. It was the sort of stretch of cracked asphalt that Deadlock loved using to move contraband, but McCree didn’t recognize the tiny, abandoned diner shimmering in the heat haze of the side of the road. Familiar or not, it was somewhere to hide, so he stumbled into it with Hanzo in tow.

Most of the walk had been silent, neither of them in the mood to talk much. Jesse suspected that Hanzo was going into shock, the fucker, and the dizzy nausea in Jesse’s stomach wasn’t much better. As soon as they were in the blessed shade they both collapsed on the patchy linoleum, legs finally giving out. Jesse wanted nothing more than a nap.

“Le'ggo,” Hanzo said groggily, tugging his wrist out of McCree’s grasp. As soon as it was released his hand went slack on that stupid toy, allowing it to roll around on the uneven floor. “‘M tired.”

McCree was about to hum an agreement when it suddenly occurred to him that _Hanzo had a concussion._ In a flash he was sitting up straight, grabbing Hanzo’s shoulders and shaking him none too gently. “Shit, no don’t sleep.”

The glare Hanzo levelled at him would have been a lot more convincing if his face hadn’t been caked in blood. “You have a concussion,” Jesse reminded him, voice embarrassingly high with panic. “We just barely got outta that shitstorm alive, you’re not dying on me now you asshole.”

Understanding flashed in Hanzo’s eyes, and then fear drove out the last of the sleepiness. His mouth went from slack to pursed in moments, and trembling hands reached up to hold onto Jesse’s face. He could probably get a good handhold on his beard, it was so overgrown at this point.

“How do I--” Hanzo shook his head, hard enough that Jesse almost worried he could do more damage. “Help me stay awake. Now that you mention it, I should not be so tired.” Apparently McCree’s concern had also made him realize how badly he was slurring, because he said every word of the last sentence slowly and as clearly as he could.

“I don’t, shit,” McCree felt like he could jump out of his damn skin. He’d spent the last two weeks starving to death, he wasn’t ready to deal with this.

Hands sliding around the back of Jesse’s head, Hanzo said. “You are not going to offer sex? I thought that was how you solved all of your problems.”

“Shit, it is,” said Jesse. And then he didn’t know what else to do, so he _did_ kiss Hanzo, frantic and desperate and completely insane. Hanzo probably had injuries McCree hadn’t noticed, he really shouldn’t be pressing him down into filthy, fifty-year-old linoleum. It was hard to pull back once they started, though, teeth clacking and tongues clumsy.

In the past, McCree had fucked Deadlock members immediately after risky raids. He’d been fucked a few times, too, when he’d been too drunk off the victory to really insist either way and they’d been too into it to care if he got hard. But this was different, this was a dusty diner in the middle of nowhere and the threat of death still pressing in on them.

Neither of them could walk any longer. Neither of them could allow themselves to fall asleep. Jesse felt, suddenly, that if there was no _right_ choice, he could at least make a choice that felt good. And kissing Hanzo felt _good_.

Jesse’s clothing was already a wreck. He didn’t even have underwear, which made it rather easy to focus on getting Hanzo’s clothes loose enough to reach under. That was good, because he needed all the focus he could get; his hands were shaking like crazy. It probably wasn’t a good idea to burn any more calories.

Fuck it. McCree didn’t care.

Straddling Hanzo’s bent legs and pressing their torsos together, McCree broke the kiss. Hanzo hissed, one of his hands going down to cradle his ribs when Jesse jostled him. But he was already half hard against McCree, and Jesse could feel his body responding to the feeling of heated flesh against his thigh. “You sure?” He asked, because in that moment he needed the excuse.

“Yes,” Hanzo said, giving it to him. Although he couldn’t look in Jesse’s eyes as he said it, instead hiding his face in the crook of his neck, it was the affirmative he was looking for. Reaching between them, Jesse took them both in hand.

Awkward as it was, it felt good. The dry, harsh drag of skin over skin, air around them seemingly leeching the moisture from their bodies. “You’re too _big_ ” Hanzo groaned, referring to the way Jesse’s hand couldn’t close around them both, despite it being much larger than Hanzo’s. It wasn’t truly a complaint, though, so Jesse kept going.

Small gasps fell from Hanzo’s mouth, barely muffling into grunts when he latched his mouth onto McCree’s neck and began sucking. Jesse barely spared a thought for the bruises he was leaving behind, too lost in the ache of it to care. His hand sped up, not taking the time to tease or draw out pleasure, driving them towards completion as fast as he could.

But Hanzo’s hand slipped down beside his, strong bowman’s fingers helping complete the tight circle around them. Jesse gasped, had to look away from the sight, Hanzo’s hand smaller and paler and his cock flushed angry red and, God forbid, _cute._ He didn’t want to dwell on the thought, but Hanzo was slowing their pace, giving his brain more time to work.

Giving him time to think about Hanzo’s hair, mostly fallen out of his ponytail, sticking to his sweat-damp and bloody skin. Giving him time to notice that some of the blood on Hanzo wasn’t his, and that shouldn’t have been hot, but Hanzo was damn good at fighting. Then his mind was focusing on other things, the way wrestling had been fun before his brain had decided to ruin everything. The way Hanzo’s lips tasted of metal and citrus freshness underneath.

Shuddering, McCree came, at the last second thinking to tilt their hands so that he was coming over Hanzo’s abs instead of his own clothes. The white, creamy come glistened on his taut muscles, so damn hot that McCree couldn’t resist letting himself go and pressing his fingers to Hanzo’s stomach. Obligingly tightening his own fingers, Hanzo continued to work himself, panting.

When Jesse’s spend-slicked fingers slid over Hanzo’s chest, rolling over his nipple and teasing it, Hanzo cried out sharply. It was a good thing they were alone, because a sound like that carried. Hanzo came all over himself, spend mixing with McCree’s, and then they were slumped together and panting. 

Beside them lay a bow and a ball and a whole lot of wasteland. McCree had to put his brain in gear, possibly find a map or at least a road sign that would let him know approximately where he was. He would, too, he swore. But just at the moment moving at all felt like too much effort; he didn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed at his utter lack of stamina.

As the dregs of adrenaline left them, they huddled together despite the overwhelming heat. They’d likely have to wait for sunset to start moving, anyway, without water to ease their way. To his surprise, Hanzo spoke, lips still pressed to McCree’s shoulder. “I am not so tired, now.”

At least neither of them sounded particularly out of their minds when they laughed. They just sounded relieved, and possibly bemused, and strangely in sync in a way that didn’t leave McCree wanting to run away as fast as he could. Granted, he couldn’t run very fast at the moment, but the sentiment was there.


	8. In the Tundra of Our Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a fucking anomaly I swear to god. It's super long, contains my woeful attempts at wham lines, was hell to write for a number of reasons, and follows a chapter that got exactly 0 comments (that always happens when I compliment the fandom for commenting consistently, I swear lmao).
> 
> Tags for today are mostly characters, which should say something about the direction the fic is going B) I told you guys that there would be comfort, and there is comfort! So tonight we've got Jack, Mei, Angela, And Freeha joining the party. Along with rimming and a particularly fluffy smut scene. I'm fucking weak. It's 2:00 A.M. I hope y'all are glad I suffer for you lol (I also suffer for McCree and Hanzo tho, I can't lie).

Luck, combined with Hanzo’s concussion and sheer exhaustion, made the rest of the trip easy. McCree had actually found an old, faded map tacked to the back wall of the diner, and it had let him know all he needed to; they were only about two hours’ walk away from Deadlock’s headquarters. Tired and confused, Hanzo was in no state to question when McCree gently pulled him to his feet shortly after sunset.

They set off east down the crumbling road, following it for so long that Jesse lost track of the number of times they stumbled. By the time he saw the familiar derelict gas station and veered off the street, he was sure Hanzo felt as dead on his feet as McCree did. But he didn’t want to waste any more time, and Hanzo still hadn’t questioned where they were going.

It became obvious rather quickly, when McCree approached the Cave Inn and saw the side door gaping, that something was wrong. He didn’t think he’d be shot on sight by Deadlock members, even looking as wretched as he did, but if a rival gang had come through things could get ugly. Then again, he wasn’t really expecting to survive either way.

Obediently, Hanzo followed him into the cheap hotel. The first hallway they walked down betrayed that the building wasn’t nearly as abandoned as it looked from the outside. The carpet was stained and worn, but clearly still being vacuumed occasionally. There were no holes or significant cracks in the walls, and the lights inside worked when McCree flipped the switch.

Then they turned the corner, a familiar right on the route to McCree’s room, and froze. Because that was definitely, _definitely_ not what the hall should’ve looked like. “Jesse,” Hanzo said, tense and strangled. “Where have you taken me?”

Thick splatters of blood painted the walls and floor, still tacky in places. The smell was vile, but there were no bodies that Jesse could see. That wasn’t any kind of relief, considering the number of bullet holes he spotted at a glance.

“I don’t rightly know,” McCree said, as honestly as he could. He had been planning on taking Hanzo to the Deadlock gang. Now, looking around, he wasn’t sure there was a gang to take him to.

On a whim, Jesse led the way to the hotel’s lobby. It was a huge, empty thing, and the Gang had used it as a meeting area and party venue both. If anyone was left, and the building was still habitable, they would congregate there. Sure enough, he heard voices as he neared it. It wasn’t until he was too close to the huge doorway that he realized he didn’t recognize them.

“Freeze! Don’t move!” Said someone behind them. Hanzo tried to nock an arrow in a movement too quick for McCree to see clearly, but his fingers fumbled, then stuttered to a stop as he seemed to fully process the situation. Two more people had appeared in front of them, a grizzled man with short-cropped, silver hair, and a woman in the combat suit that had been flying circles around the Shimadas earlier. They were surrounded.

“Fucking overwatch,” McCree grumbled, and Hanzo huffed a surprised laugh beside him. But there were at least two guns trained on them, likely three if the person behind them wasn’t bluffing. Given that she was a member of Overwatch, she almost certainly wasn’t.

The man stalked forward, scars crossing every visible inch of skin. It was kind of impressive that there were so many on just his hands and face, all things considered. “State your names and business,” he said. As if whose side they were on wasn’t fucking obvious from the way they were dressed.

Pursing his lips and crossing his arms, Hanzo made it clear he wasn’t going to answer. Which was fine in Jesse’s book, because he could answer for both of them. “Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada,” he said evenly. Hanzo’s mechanical knees whined as they nearly buckled, hurt flashing across his expression before it went stony. Ignoring him, McCree continued, “And I’d like to know what the hell happened to my gang.”

“Well,” the gruff man said. “It’s nice to meet you, Jesse McCree. You’ll get your answers soon enough. But first,” he paused, and sudden cold wrapped around McCree, freezing him in place. He would have screamed shock and outrage at such a horrifying way of incapacitating him, but he couldn’t draw a breath. “Welcome to Overwatch.”

_____

Hanzo and McCree were put on board a helicopter, handcuffed together so that once they thawed they didn’t have even an illusion of freedom. Hanzo’s bow and ball had been taken from him, but despite the trouble he’d gone to get the damn thing he hadn’t protested, only glared furiously. Now, Hanzo kept darting little looks at McCree, clearly wanting to comment on how casually he’d given up, but he kept his mouth shut while they were still surrounded by enemies. There was no getting comfortable during the bumpy ride, so McCree grit his teeth and did his best to ignore Hanzo.

A piece of him wished that he’d just pass out already. He’d started shaking continuously not five minutes into the ride, and knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay conscious much longer if they didn’t feed him. The same thing seemed to occur to Hanzo when the shakes became shudders strong enough to make the cuffs clink metallically.

“When was the last time you ate?” He muttered, eyeing McCree’s gaunt appearance. He hadn’t noticed before, and McCree had hoped to keep him from noticing a while longer.

“Last time you fed me,” he admitted, because hey. They were already in enemy territory, it looked like he wasn’t getting the easy death he’d had panned, and his whole crew was probably either captured or killed. If Hanzo wanted to know, there was no reason to hide it from him.

Cursing under his breath, Hanzo turned to one of the guards sitting near them. She was a small woman, shorter than both of them and soft looking, but the gun in her hands had frozen them both in seconds. “McCree needs food,” he said, his accent thick and harsh on the words.

She opened her mouth to answer, dark eyes flitting to McCree and probably noticing the way his outfit hung off of him, but the other guard cut her off. “Ignore them, Mei,” said combat suit lady. For his part, Jesse was just surprised Hanzo had interceded.

“He has not eaten in two weeks,” said Hanzo. The women exchanged looks, but neither seemed inclined to do much about that fact. Which made sense, because they were on a helicopter. McCree hadn’t bothered to ask for food when he sincerely doubted they had access to any.

Sure enough, the armored woman said, “He can eat when we get to the watchpoint.” Hanzo looked about ready to press the point, but McCree brushed his fingers against Hanzo’s pants, derailing him. Hanzo met his eyes and frowned when McCree gave a minute shake of his head, but he kept his mouth shut.

Sleep sounded better to McCree than food did, anyway. Hunger had turned into the tunnel vision and nausea that he knew was dangerous, but made food less appetizing either way. His stomach turned at every jarring turn in the helicopter’s path.

Despite the lingering pains in his body, he did drift off. It was more a twilight than real sleep, but it left him unaware enough that at some point during the ride, Hanzo had twined their fingers together, and McCree hadn’t complained. He hadn’t even realized it until the helicopter began losing altitude, causing his ears to pop and Hanzo to release him. His hand suddenly cold, McCree was disoriented for only a moment before the Mei woman grabbed Hanzo’s shoulder and helped him to his feet.

“Here we are!” She said brightly, far too friendly for someone who was helping march them into a cell. Then again, she was part of Overwatch. Weren’t they all meant to be good guys?

Judging from the look on the other woman’s face, McCree couldn’t count on that. They walked into the back entrance of a building McCree was actually familiar with, if only because he’d been told to stay away from it so many times. Like all watchpoints, it was sleek and shiny, likely full of all of the newest tech.

Both McCree and Hanzo stumbled several times when they were led down a hallway, and McCree almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity. Neither of them was a threat at all, at the moment, and two guards felt beyond excessive. The first room they were brought to, they were patted down and divested of any and all non-clothing items. This meant nothing for McCree, but left Hanzo scowling beside a slightly alarming pile of throwing knives and other battle supplies.

Next, there was a much whiter room with a blonde woman in it, her hands pressing busily at the buttons of some machine. “Got two for you,” Mei said, gesturing with her gun to McCree and Hanzo.

After looking them over critically, the blonde pointed at McCree and shook her head. “He needs food, first,” she said with a Swiss accent. McCree blinked in surprise at her voice, more than her words. “The machine utilizes energy already within the body, and he has none to spare.”

With a shrug, Mei uncuffed them and pushed Hanzo towards the newcomer. Their other guard still had a gun to McCree’s back, not that he particularly wanted to attempt an escape at the moment. Hanzo was made to lie on a bench of sorts, frozen when he protested. McCree spared a thought for all the kinds of tortures three able-bodied and armed women could visit on them, vulnerable as they both were at the moment.

But the machine whined to life, and instead of screaming, a puzzled look passed over Hanzo’s face. The ice dripped off of him, but he barely shifted, and McCree realized why in moments. They were _healing_ him. Which meant Overwatch had plans for them, besides letting them rot in a cell. Remembering the way Akio’s thug had tended to each of his wounds carefully, McCree felt sick.

Once the machine was done with Hanzo they were cuffed back together, prodded into another room, and uncuffed again. _It seems kinda unnecessary to keep undoing and redoing that,_ McCree thought, but he didn’t have the energy to actually say it. Then he spotted the bed in the corner and the, _oh sweet Jesus finally,_ food on the table in the middle of the room.

The armored woman was talking, McCree was pretty sure, but it was taking all of his concentration to sit down and carefully begin chowing down on apple slices. He knew better than to overeat after so long without, but as the meager amount of food started his stomach gurgling it suddenly felt very hard to resist.

Hanzo sat across from him, eating surprisingly ravenously. Jesse barely spared a thought for the thing that Swiss lass had said, about using the body’s energy stores, before he was simply watching with fascination as Hanzo ate. He swore he’d never seen someone who tried so hard to use proper manners while kneeling on a cell floor and covered in old blood.

“Gentlemen,” said a gruff voice from the doorway. McCree jerked around to stare at the silver-haired man from before, but Hanzo only had to lift his eyes from the food. Ordinarily Jesse would’ve positioned himself to face the exit too, but he was more than a bit out of it. “I’m Soldier: 76, and I’m going to offer you a choice.”

Deja vu. Resisting the urge to groan and thump his head on the table, McCree focused on ignoring the prickling feeling of Hanzo staring at his back. “You’re both exceptional fighters,” 76 was saying (it was such a stupid alias, naming himself after his _jacket_ ). “The sort who take years to train. I assume that you’ve both heard of Blackwatch?”

Jesse nodded, and assumed Hanzo was doing the same behind him. A few years ago, the Blackwatch scandal had nearly torn Overwatch apart. Everyone remembered the moment that humanity’s saviours had proven to be exactly like everyone else, human. Capable of mistakes.

“We still offer amnesty to talented criminals who chose to dedicate themselves to the cause. Blackwatch would welcome you into their ranks.” Then, looking squarely at Hanzo, 76 made McCree _very_ glad he’d turned Genji down. “Especially you, Shimada.”

When Jesse turned and saw the disgruntled look on Hanzo’s face, like he thought he was being made fun of, he couldn’t help but snort. “How long we got before we’ve gotta give you an answer, partner?” McCree asked, addressing 76 without looking away from Hanzo.

“Until tomorrow,” Soldier: 76 said. “Sleep on it, boys. I trust you’ll make the right choice.” He left with a finality, both of the guards following him. Someone would most likely be stationed just outside the locked door, and there were definitely cameras in the room, but the removal of the immediate threat allowed McCree and Hanzo to relax with near-simultaneous sighs.

Eyes meeting over the food that still littered the table, Jesse allowed himself a grin for Hanzo. It wasn’t returned, but Hanzo didn’t seem the type to smile after the kind of day they’d just had, so it didn’t bother him. He simply ate until his stomach started hurting, which took a dismally short time, and then he looked up at the room and realized there was only one bed.

In another life, that would’ve made McCree blush. But as it was, he knew how he looked, dressed in ruined Japanese clothing and Hanzo holding his fucking hand while he slept. He was about to knock on the door as obnoxiously as possible and demand another cot, or even another room, but Hanzo’s voice broke the delicate silence of the room before he could.

“Are you going to join?” He asked, biting out the words as if they hurt him to say. McCree watched him, the downtilt of his head and the way his brown eyes looked nearly black in the shadows of his hair. He needed a bath about as badly as McCree did.

“Not sure yet,” McCree said, not looking away from Hanzo’s face. “Might, depending on what they did with the,” swallowing around a sudden, hard lump in his throat, McCree forced out the words. “The Deadlock survivors. What ‘bout you? Think you’ll do it?”

Silence hung heavy between them, and when Hanzo spoke it sounded as though his tongue was heavy. “I have nothing to go back to. And this will allow me to fight Talon, will it not?”

“Sure will,” McCree said, inclining his head. He made a mental note to get the Overwatch assholes to give him his clothes from the Cave Inn, if he did decide to join them. If they hadn’t…

Without even realizing, Hanzo saved Jesse from that disastrous train of thought with a question. “How did you know?” He asked, still not meeting McCree’s gaze. “That Genji was joining them. Did he… tell you?”

Chuckling, McCree shook his head. “I guessed, and the kid confirmed. What did he tell you to keep you from finding me, by the way?”

“He said that he wished to spare me from-- from making the same mistake twice. I was spending too much time with you, and he was concerned, so he offered to take over your keeping.” Well, McCree hadn’t expected _that._ It made his chest ache slightly, but more than that, he had a sneaking suspicion that Genji didn’t often show his brother concern.

“Shitty, isn’t it,” McCree said lightly. “Your brother being a dick and all.”

“Yes,” said Hanzo, no trace of joking in his tone. He only sounded bitter, and older than usual. The silver in his hair looked unusually pronounced, but McCree supposed the past couple of weeks hadn’t been easy for anyone.

“Akio let something slip,” he admitted quietly. Hanzo’s head snapped up, his glare locking on McCree. His eyes were suspiciously shiny, but McCree had already said too much to take it back. Fuck. “Said you injured Genji on some higher-up’s orders. Also said it might’ve been an accident, but I figured you had a right to know I knew.”

“It was not an accident,” Hanzo spat. McCree sat back on his heels, hands up defensively, but Hanzo wasted no time. He said his next words in a rush, like he’d been holding them back for too long and he couldn’t keep them down any longer. “Who is David. You said his name, when I was treating you.”

Cold anger curled in McCree’s gut. He remembered the twilight haze that had hung over him after the whipping, but he had been certain he hadn’t said anything aloud. He was furious with himself for not keeping his mouth shut, even knowing that he’d said David’s name later-- to _Genji._ “I’ll tell you who he is if’n you say what you did to Genji.”

“I am sure the Overwatch agents can tell you,” Hanzo said, baring his teeth. “I am rather easy to manipulate, it is probably why they want me.”

Inhaling sharply, McCree realized he recognized the anger on Hanzo’s face. It was the same kind bubbling inside of him. “David’s my brother,” he said, low enough that a hidden microphone might not pick it up.

That brought Hanzo up short rather abruptly. He kept glaring at McCree, but when he didn’t sense any lie in what Jesse’d said he deflated slightly. “I was ordered to kill Genji for disgracing the family with his frivolous antics. He was sleeping around, endangering family secrets.”

Angry as the admission was, McCree would bet that it was also as true as everything else. The moment was surreal, McCree and Hanzo captives together in a watchpoint, considering joining Overwatch. _Overwatch._ It was like something out of a dream. Or a particularly terrifying nightmare.

And because Hanzo seemed to still be suffering from an inhibition-lowering concussion despite having been healed earlier, he blurted, “How did you lose your arm?” McCree was about ready to growl at him. Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“I ain’t got a clue. Don’t remember ever having more than one , and there’s no records. How’d you lose your legs?” He snapped back. It was a challenge, now. If Hanzo decided he wanted to-- to _bond_ or something while they were locked in this cell together, then he’d get his wish. But not without McCree nearly biting his head off with every question. He was too tired for patience.

“When I dragged Genji out of the _fucking fire_ there was a second explosion and--” Hanzo stopped talking, stopped breathing entirely. McCree had never heard him swear like that, certainly not in English. They stared at each other, fragile quiet between them, and when Hanzo shattered it he sounded all the angrier for the evenness of his voice. “Did David hurt you?”

“Are you a virgin?” McCree shot back. He hated the way Hanzo had withdrawn back into the cold mask from the early days of McCree’s imprisonment. His question did its job of breaking through it, though, because Hanzo’s face _crumpled._

They looked away from each other, and though Hanzo was the first to do it McCree didn’t feel any kind of victory. “Too much?” He asked, gruff, and Hanzo responded with a bark of humorless laughter.

“Too much,” he agreed, black hair obscuring his face. He stood, suddenly, and walked to the door. “We need another bed,” he said through it, no louder than a conversational tone.

“We’ll bring it shortly,” said a feminine voice. McCree didn’t think he recognized it, but it brought a sour taste to his mouth anyway. This was not the time or place for them to be spilling secrets to each other. Damn the tension, and the fear, and the uncertainty, they couldn’t afford to let their anger loose on each other at the moment.

Neither of them spoke again while they waited for the cot, and when it was brought the only thing McCree said was, “Think y’all could get me some proper clothes, while we’re at it?” The clothes were brought too, and Jesse changed into the shirt and pants embroidered with Overwatch’s insignia thing as quickly and nonchalantly as he could. There was still some food on the table, so he picked at their leftovers, but it wasn’t long before the lights in the room went out.

“I am going to sleep,” Hanzo said, awkward and stiff as all hell. McCree couldn’t blame him; he couldn’t even find the words to answer. Hanzo climbed into the cot, leaving the better bed for McCree.

Sitting and filling the room with the sound of his chewing was somehow even more awkward than the utter lack of conversation had been, so McCree got up and went to the bed before long. It was a lot like the bed Hanzo had given him, thin mattress and thinner sheets. At the same time, it was entirely different, because he could hear Hanzo’s quiet breathing so _close._

Exhaustion had been pulling at him for what felt like days, now. Yet when he closed his eyes the only thing he could focus on was the breathing, the occasional rustling as Hanzo shifted. It had been a long, long time since he’d had to share a room. Not since he’d turned sixteen and moved out of the foster home to live with David, in fact.

On the other side of the bare room, Hanzo sighed. The sound bounced off the concrete walls, and McCree found himself glad the room was dry and warm, because in some ways it very much resembled Akio’s playroom. Prosthetics whining, Hanzo shifted, until there was a faint, metallic scrape as his feet hit the ground.

McCree thought that Hanzo was going to ask to use the bathroom, or some shit. Instead he walked closer to McCree’s bed, just far enough that it didn’t feel like he was staring down at Jesse. His breathing kept hitching as if he wanted to speak, but no words came out. It wasn’t long before McCree was sitting up, catching Hanzo’s hand and dragging him down, until he could sit at the edge of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” Jesse asked, swallowing down his irritation. Hanzo nodded, his face a pale shape in the darkness. Jesse wondered what his own looked like; it had been a long time since he’d looked in a mirror.

Maybe it was the dark that had Hanzo leaning towards Jesse, resting his soft, human hands on his shoulders. Maybe it was leftover anger, transforming into a different kind of passion (Jesse had seen that more than enough times, arguments that got heated in more than one way). Maybe it was the memory of other kisses or the fact that Genji was truly beyond his grasp or the prospect of joining Overwatch.

Whatever it was, McCree leaned into him. They kissed softly, lips slow and somewhat clumsy. Thankfully, Hanzo didn’t open his mouth, because McCree was fairly certain that if either of them had started drooling all over the place at this point it would’ve been the opposite of sexy. As it was, though, the slow drag of skin over skin was sensual and strangely comforting.

Each time they pulled away, only to come together again, McCree felt something inside himself settle. It was hard to hang onto irritation with Hanzo’s arms wrapping around his neck, the muscular body pressing to his. Even wrecked as they both felt, McCree could easily admit that Hanzo was attractive. Hell, he’d thought for a while that it was Hanzo’s only good trait, besides his talent with the bow.

But when Hanzo’s dick pressed against his hip, half-mast and warmer than the rest of his body, McCree couldn’t help but tense. He didn’t think he had another round in him. Hanzo seemed to get the memo and pulled away, mumbling what might have been an apology, but McCree’s body decided for him that he didn’t want to let Hanzo go just yet. “Wait, darlin’, I got an idea.”

Obediently, Hanzo nodded. His eyes were a little glazed over, and McCree was glad for the dark, really truly glad, because he was pretty sure he didn’t want to see Hanzo’s face clearly at the moment. He worked Hanzo’s strange, baggy pants open, sliding them down to bare his soft, human thighs. It gave him something to focus on besides Hanzo’s expression.

Squirming the rest of the way out of his pants, Hanzo leaned back when McCree’s hands pressed to his shoulders. But something in McCree’s gut felt _off,_ not the irritation of earlier, but something lower and more painful. Abruptly, he yanked the blanket from beneath Hanzo, draping it over the both of them. It wouldn’t stop infrared cameras, but it would block them from night vision.

A sharp inhale from beneath Jesse betrayed Hanzo’s surprise, but in the near total blackness he couldn’t see the way he was certain Hanzo bit his lip in surprise. “Bit of privacy’s nice, sometimes,” McCree mumbled by way of explanation. Then, to shut himself up, he started kissing down Hanzo’s chest.

Those pecs were utterly sinful. Not only did they look tantalizing as hell, enough to make McCree’s mouth water a bit at finally getting to lave at them, but they turned out to be sensitive to boot. Hanzo made quiet sounds above him, so soft that he must have been muffling them with his hand. Or maybe he’d jammed a mouthful of blanket into his mouth. Jesse didn’t look or reach up to investigate, only ran his hand down Hanzo’s clothed stomach to his bare hip.

He didn’t bother teasing Hanzo’s chest long. It was hot, yeah, but he couldn’t even see it at the moment, and he had other things on his mind. Instead he nosed his way down, hand pulling Hanzo’s legs apart widely enough that he could feel the strain in his muscles. And that meant they were spread _wide,_ because Hanzo was _flexible._

Lips skimming up the inside of one of Hanzo’s thighs, McCree felt himself smiling. It was an unfamiliar sensation, in this kind of setting, and it didn’t last long. But it was hard to focus on that, or let it bother him particularly, when the dark pressed close and the blanket covered them. Like what they were doing was a secret, and the smile was part of that.

Their emotions had run so high that day, it seemed like there were none left to cycle through. Just that vague feeling that had made Jesse cover them. He didn’t even pause at the memory of his own, biting words. _Are you a virgin?_ Most men were, when it came to what he had planned; somehow, that made it easier.

Pressing his nose beneath Hanzo’s balls, McCree slid his hand under Hanzo’s hips and lifted him as best he could. It was awkward, and his arm was tired in very short order, but it was enough for him to get the first firm lick at Hanzo’s ass. With a gasp, Hanzo seemed to realize what was happening, and then he was shoving a pillow beneath his hips in a rare moment of decisiveness.

Arm finally freed, McCree rubbed soothing circles into Hanzo’s inner thigh before spreading his cheeks open. It was easier with two hands but perfectly doable with one, and he was rewarded for his efforts when Hanzo moaned at the feeling of Jesse’s tongue against his entrance. Even here, he was tangy, though it was nearly overwhelmed by the musk and salty sweat of the day. Fuck, it was probably unsanitary as hell, McCree knew where he’d been.

Each quiet noise that Hanzo made was addicting, though. McCree just wasn’t dedicated to talking himself out of this, when the darting press of his tongue made Hanzo’s breath catch, and long, flat laps made his back arch. It was intoxicating, Jesse decided; it was both a good descriptor and a good excuse. If he was high on Hanzo, he wasn’t fully responsible for his actions.

Tongue circling Hanzo’s entrance, McCree laughed in disbelief. He was getting hard, despite literally everything in his body telling him it was impossible. This wasn’t even his usual style, the languorous movements all sweet and gentle. Still, it felt good, and before he could think he had a finger swiping through the drool that had trailed between Hanzo’s legs. He slicked it thoroughly, then pressed it in, moving so slowly that Hanzo _trembled._

Once his finger was in he thrust it lazily, not wanting to overwhelm Hanzo. At least, not at the moment. He licked over Hanzo’s balls, satisfied with the way it made him groan, even if the sound did cut off rather abruptly when Hanzo realized he was making it. With a twist of his wrist, McCree started searching for Hanzo’s prostate.

“ _Oh,_ ” Hanzo said breathlessly when McCree found it. It was a surprised sound, relaxed and genuine enough that, in any other setting, McCree would’ve been uncomfortable with it. As it was, he simply sighed into Hanzo’s skin in wordless agreement.

Exhaustion turned out to be completely ineffective in slowing Hanzo down. It only took a few slow circles around his prostate, gentle presses that barely put pressure on the gland, and McCree’s tongue licking around the place where his finger disappeared inside Hanzo to get him to come. He moaned as he did, long and low, something that started with a hummed “Mmmmnh,” and made McCree glad Hanzo wasn’t prone to being wordy during sex.

It was only when he pulled away that McCree realized Hanzo had come all over his hair. In fairness, his hair was already a matted, overgrown mess, but he still felt himself frown about it. Then it occurred to him that he could simply wipe his head on the sheet laying over him, so he did. Enthusiastically.

“What?” Hanzo said, bleary and confused, at Jesse’s sudden movement. Worming his way up, Jesse pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s lips, silencing any further questions.

“Gimme a hand, will you partner?” Jesse murmured, catching one of Hanzo’s hands and drawing it between his legs. Hanzo squeezed him gently through the fabric of his dark grey pants, making him groan.

“Yes,” Hanzo said, lips moving against McCree’s. He drew Jesse out of his pants and underwear, and though he touched him lightly he didn’t tease. Neither of them were in the mood for it, both fulfilling a primal need that was something similar to what had motivated them in the diner.

Similar, but different enough that Hanzo was gentle. His thigh slung over McCree’s legs, strangely proprietary as they lay side by side, facing each other. Hanzo’s eyes were no more than a faint reflection of light, glints more hinted at than seen, and McCree was sure his were the same way. Still, his eyes stayed glued to the suggestion of Hanzo’s face as he tensed, then came onto the bed. They both scooted away from the wet spot, then McCree found himself laughing ruefully.

In minutes, Hanzo was asleep. Sleeping in the same bed as another adult post-sex was more familiar to McCree than simply sharing a room and sleeping separately was, but he was fairly certain that the same wasn’t true of Hanzo. He told himself that that was why he got up from the bed on wobbly legs and walked to the cot, and that it had nothing to do with the way Hanzo’s breathing was lulling him.

_____

Blue glow filled McCree’s vision. He’d been staring at the hologram so long his vision had started swimming, but he couldn’t force himself to blink. He had the strangest feeling that if he did, the text he saw would disappear.

_David McCree. Aged 42. Minor injuries sustained during capture. In Overwatch custody._

Barely anything at all. More than McCree had gotten in a month. He looked up at the silver-haired Soldier: 76, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m in,” he said, cocky and self assured and not the least bit self conscious about the fact that 76 had made a face when he’d walked into the room that morning and smelled stale sweat and sex. “I’ll join your little tea party, princess.”


	9. A Sweet Wreck of My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping this short for now, but the end of this chapter is gonna have a couple of announcements. So, without further ado, the tags of the day are: D.Va, Lucio, Reaper, and Brigitte. Also sorry if this disappoints anyone, but for once we don't get smut. Sorry guys, I had to give the boys a break UoU

McCree couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the mirror. Everything had moved _fast_ in the few hours since he’d agreed to join. Hanzo had been whisked away by the armored woman, though she was out of her armor and explained that her code-name was Pharah. Every time one of them introduced themselves, McCree was reminded of how lax with real names Hanzo had been.

First, he’d given them instructions about where his spare clothes were in the Cave Inn. He’d found out that his arm was beyond recovery; Hanzo had handed it off to an underling to sell, and the string of cash purchases that followed made the arm was impossible to track down. Peacekeeper was also gone, along with his belt. McCree hadn’t even thought about that belt, until Hanzo had mentioned it apologetically.

After that had been food, then that healing machine with the same Swiss dame running it ( _Mercy,_ he remembered). There hadn’t been much left on him to heal, but the few places that hadn’t already scarred over had, surprisingly, healed cleanly. He was still down a nipple, though, and it was almost comedic if he could forget why.

“We’ve got a plane coming at two,” Mei had said to him as she led him to what looked like a communal bathroom. Handing him a disposable travel pack of toiletries, she smiled amiably at him. “Clean yourself up, and we should have some of your clothes by the time you’re done.”

He’d brushed his teeth, shampooed and combed his hair, scrubbed his body down in the sterile shower stall until it felt like he’d scraped a layer of skin off. Brushing his hair and grooming his mess of a beard had been a nightmare, but he’d managed, and by the time he was done his clothing was sitting right where Mei’d said it would be. Blue jeans, red flannel, one of his spare hats, leather boots.

When he’d put the clothing on, he’d only meant to glance in the mirror briefly. Just a quick check, to see how the ensemble fit him after he’d lost weight. But now that he’d started looking, he couldn’t stop _staring._

For the first time in too long, McCree looked like _himself._ Sure, he still didn’t have his chaps, his serape, or a half smoked cigarillo in his mouth, but he was _Jesse._ No foreign Japanese clothes or borrowed sweatpants. No more looking like a prisoner or a _fucktoy._ He was Jesse McCree, and he was as free as he could be, given that he’d just signed his life away to Overwatch’s infamous black ops unit.

Suddenly, his actions the night before weren’t just confusing, they were terrifying. Jesse didn’t _do_ that, didn’t rim yakuza (ex-yakuza, now) within an inch of their life and then wait for them to fall asleep in his arms before slinking off. He didn’t even fuck the same man twice, if he could help it, and he and Hanzo might never have fucked properly but the point still stood.

His mental flailing was not helped at all when he spotted Hanzo in the mirror. He didn’t look substantially different, dressed the same way he usually was. It only made McCree more starkly aware of the fact that, for as long as he’d known Hanzo, he’d been injured or filthy or naked or some combination of the three. Hanzo’s wide eyes kept running up and down his body until McCree cleared his throat, trying to break the tension.

“Wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?” He asked, finally catching Hanzo’s gaze and holding it. He might have been imagining it, but it looked like Hanzo had flushed slightly under the florescent lighting.

Pulling out a phone from one of the pouches around his hips, Hanzo held it out to McCree. “You can check for yourself,” he said. “Mei told me to give you this, and to tell you to hurry.”

Jesse saw why when he clicked the screen on. _2:05._ Well, he supposed he might’ve taken a bit long trimming his beard. It seemed worth it, though, for the way Hanzo’s gaze kept lingering on his jaw. Something warm curled in McCree’s gut, gentler than lust, and then it felt like the floor dropped out from beneath him.

“Best get going then,” Jesse said, voice remarkably calm. It was as though the storm inside him was so intense, so violent, that his body didn’t even know how to begin externalizing it. So instead he followed Hanzo’s lead to the landing strip, all even pace and hand in his back pocket.

Once he’d figured it out, though, his mind wouldn’t let go of it. It was like he had a pitbull in his head, jaws locked around the dumbest idea he’d had in a long time. And he’d had a _lot_ of dumb ideas. This one took the cake, innocuous as it seemed. _I like him._

The emotion wasn’t love. Wasn’t even close, really, the difference in intensity enough that McCree would never mistake the two. But he _liked_ him, wanted to be around him, wanted to see him smile and laugh and gasp and moan and-- fuck, it was stupid. He’d been locked up, and he was fairly certain this was only some misplaced savior complex.

Still, he didn’t push Hanzo away when he sat beside him in the plane. Mei was chatting away, saying something about how their personal belongings were in the back of the plane and they’d be led to their rooms when they arrived and she was glad they’d both chosen to join, but McCree couldn’t focus on the words. He felt hyper aware of Hanzo, the clean smell of generic soap and slight citrus under it.

 _Dangerous._ McCree had just made possibly the second biggest decision of his life, choosing to join Overwatch to avoid spending the rest of his time in jail. And he was going into this with Hanzo, a man who until now had been his enemy, and now was probably going to be his ally through whatever kinda hell training Overwatch thought was appropriate for ex-con recruits. He couldn’t risk losing that ally over _feelings._

Worse, he wasn’t entirely sure they weren't reciprocated. Which, in theory, was awesome, but in practice McCree knew better. The way Hanzo leaned into him, the fact that they’d barely been apart since he’d dragged Hanzo from his room, it was all _dangerous._ That kind of attachment could get you killed, if you weren’t careful. David had taught him that well enough.

And the most dangerous part of it was how… anticlimactic it was. Realizing that he liked Hanzo was _inconsequential,_ as though he’d known it already. Maybe he had, since the night before, at least. Maybe since that time in the courtyard, with Hanzo between his thighs and so _caring._ McCree liked Hanzo the way he liked grits and cowboy hats and cigarillos. And he couldn’t afford that, the easy enjoyment of Hanzo’s company, when he knew that the wrong word would bring back the wrong memories, and…

Hanzo jostled McCree’s shoulder, snapping him out of the dark place his mind had been going to. “Have you been listening at all, cowboy?” Hanzo asked, grumpy in a cute way that McCree couldn’t handle at the moment.

“Nope,” he replied, guileless as he could make it. Jesse had to handle it. Every gesture that struck him as endearing he had to learn to shove aside, because he liked the path he was going down too much.

Sighing in exasperation, Hanzo quickly summarized. “We are to carry our own suitcases into the rooms we are led to. Overwatch has a landing strip at the Swiss watchpoint, so it won’t be too much trouble.” He scowled, as though it _was_ too much trouble, and McCree snorted in amusement. Rich boys. “After that, we must meet with the Blackwatch commander immediately. He is a busy man, and we cannot keep him waiting.”

“That’s not what I said,” Mei protested, all sweet indignation. She seemed like a nice enough girl, but the way she could so casually freeze people, _literally,_ put McCree on edge. “I just said you might want to hurry up a little, not that you have to rush or anything. Commander Reyes is a bit intimidating, but it’s not like he’s going to bite your head off!”

Dubious moue still firmly in place, Hanzo nodded. “Of course,” he said, making McCree snort again. Had Hanzo always been a sarcastic asshole?

And there it was again. Clearly, listing the reasons he shouldn’t like Hanzo had been completely ineffective in helping him actually _not like Hanzo._ “How long’s this trip gonna take, missy?” Jesse asked, faking nonchalant with everything he had.

“A little under ten hours,” Mei said apologetically. “But hey, at least you’re free to move around this time? As long as you don’t try to escape, of course. There’s even snacks in the back of the plane!”

She had a way of talking fast without being overpowering, but it had Hanzo squinting at her anyway. He spoke such good English, it had never occurred to McCree that he’d struggle with someone talking too fast. When he heard the bit about snacks, though, he looked over at Jesse appraisingly. Speaking as though he fully expected to be obeyed, he said, “McCree, could you get something to eat? You are not going to be able to regain muscle without.”

“Sure could, sweetheart,” McCree drawled. He sank lower into his seat, glad for the first-class plushness. Of course, he did need to eat, but he wasn’t about to give Hanzo the satisfaction of doing whatever he said. He didn’t like him _that_ much.

To his surprise, Hanzo sighed heavily and then stood, stepping over McCree’s sprawled legs to walk to the end of the plane. Jesse stubbornly refused to allow his head to turn to watch Hanzo, because he was pretty sure he knew what he’d see. Instead he tilted his hat down over his eyes, and thought longingly of his serape. He’d never been on a plane before, and he hadn’t realized that it could get uncomfortably cool.

“So, Mei,” McCree said. He needed a distraction, stat. “You part of Blackwatch, too?”

“Oh, no!” Mei giggled coyly, giving him a sidelong look. “I’m an environmentalist.” The way she said it was half-joking, but only half.

Rolling his eyes, McCree grumbled, “Y’all Overwatch agents are killin’ me.” Mei laughed louder at that, and then outright guffawed when Hanzo dropped a bag of chips and a bottle of water in his lap.

“In case you have forgotten, we are both Overwatch agents as well,” Hanzo pointed out. He sat beside McCree with, of all things, a cup full of lemon slices in his hand. McCree watched in utter shock as Hanzo ate one like it was an orange. _Guess that explains the tang,_ he thought.

“Actually,” Mei corrected, still sounding like she was on the edge of chortling at them. “You’re agents after Reyes approves you. I’m sure he will, but until then you’re only guests.” She winked at them, and Hanzo’s nose scrunched in adorable distaste.

Shit. Not adorable distaste, just _distaste._ Jesse hadn’t been this bad in a long while. He decided it was probably because he was hungry and yanked the chips open with his teeth, then wedged the full bag between his legs so he could munch on handfuls of salty, oily goodness. Yeah, sure, it was just hunger.

Ten hours in a plane were going to kill him.

_____

In spite of his prediction, ten hours in a plane did not in fact kill him. Nor did he kill Hanzo in a sudden fit of pique. That alone would’ve been enough for him to count it as a successful trip, but he’d also managed to somehow have normal conversation with Hanzo. That was to say, he managed until Hanzo fell asleep, body listing over until his head landed on McCree’s shoulder.

“Is that a thing with you?” asked Mei, quiet enough to not risk waking Hanzo up. “Falling asleep on each other?”

“Hey, we’ve had a shit time lately,” McCree said. He kept his tone joking, but Mei had been there when they’d been captured and healed. She knew more than he’d like. “Poor guy deserves a break anyway, y’all are about to run us ragged.”

Apologetically spreading her hands in front of her, Mei said, “We need to test your baseline abilities! Commander Reyes is pretty strict about that.” Jesse nodded; it fit with what he knew of the grim commander from news specials.

He hadn’t looked at Hanzo’s face since he’d fallen asleep, but when Mei’s comm line blinked red and she straightened, obviously listening to some instruction and not paying close attention, Jesse’s resolve cracked down the middle. He tried to settle for just a glance downward, but the angle was weird, and he had to tilt his head. There was no pretending he wasn’t trying to get a good look, after that.

In sleep Hanzo looked positively regal. His brows still drew inwards slightly, but it was more disapproving than stressed. His tied back hair leant a harshness to his high cheekbones, and McCree could imagine him dreaming about some hapless servant brewing up the wrong kind of tea. The thought made him chuckle.

When Jesse looked back up, Mei was watching him with a smile. There was a tightness around her eyes now, though, and it made McCree frown. “Anything I should worry about?” He asked, gesturing at the comm device in her ear.

“Nope!” She said, entirely too cheery. “But you’ll get a bit of a break before you have to see Reyes, as it turns out. He’s a bit busy with some UN officials at the moment.” The grimace on her face told McCree that she was familiar with the problem.

“Gotcha,” he said, resisting the urge to stare at Hanzo again. “Guess we can use the time to rest, at least.”

Mei, on the other hand, had no problem staring blatantly at Hanzo’s sleeping face. “You’re a strange couple,” she said offhandedly.

It was so casual that McCree took a second to really process her words, and when he did he coughed into his fist harder than he’d meant to, jostling Hanzo slightly. “We ain’t a couple,” he said, trying not to sound defensive. “In case y’all didn’t know, I was kinda his prisoner for a while.”

“Oh, we know,” Mei said. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and it really was a shame McCree couldn’t trust her, ‘cause she was cute when she winked.

“Approaching watchpoint Geneva,” Soldier 76 said over the intercom. His voice was ill-suited to it, grating on McCree’s ears with the growling undertones. “We begin descent in five minutes.”

“Thanks for the warning, princess,” McCree grumbled. Mei’s answering giggle was high and loud, startling Hanzo into sitting up. He looked around, disoriented, and Jesse eyed the bags under his eyes guiltily.

Mei seemed not to notice Hanzo, too busy patting McCree’s shoulder. It was his bad side, too, which was distracting; people usually avoided touching that. “That’s our golden boy, if you can believe it,” she said conspiratorially.

“Jack Morrison?” McCree asked, surprised. Even Hanzo perked up at the name, though he was still looking between the two of them with some confusion. “You’re shitting me. What was he doing back in the states?”

“Talon had some big players in the neighborhood,” Mei said wryly. She tilted her head at Hanzo, and though her smile didn’t change something told McCree it wasn’t reaching her eyes. “Your boy had some impressive connections!”

“I did not,” Hanzo said, voice rumbly and rough from sleep. It was so similar to Morrison’s growl (holy shit, McCree had called Jack Morrison _princess_ ) but somehow it soothed instead of irritating him. “Which I expect you know. Otherwise I would not be free so near your commander.”

“Maybe,” Mei said, shrugging. Jesse wanted to ask _maybe what,_ because there was a lot that word could mean. But the plane was shaking slightly as it sank from the sky, and Hanzo was pulling away from McCree’s body heat, officially conscious enough to retreat into his considerable personal space.

They left the plane together, Mei and McCree making uneasy small talk as she opened the hatch and gestured to their bags. Overwatch had actually packed McCree’s things inside the one suitcase he owned, a battered green thing with fraying edges and a messed up zipper. Hanzo’s was, in comparison, completely boring. Black and ultra-lightweight, like he actually needed to worry about how much it cost him to fly.

Who knew, he might have to worry about it now. Had Hanzo been cut off from all his cash, the moment he’d decided to join Overwatch? They’d probably be able to get him back his legal assets, but McCree had no idea what those amounted to. And would Hanzo even let them help? _Ha._ No, of course he wouldn’t.

Clouds hung heavy and dark above them. It washed the shiny chrome of the plane into a dull grey, but even the dreary weather couldn’t make the watchpoint less impressive. McCree whistled long and high, and Hanzo didn’t even shoot him a sharp look for it. It wasn’t that the Overwatch headquarters was ostentatious, because it really wasn’t, but it was _big._

A tall building rose in the center, all glass walls and impossibly delicate, white pillars. Mei led them away from it, though, towards a much smaller (but still considerably sized) pale wood building. It looked slightly out of place, like a large, old house dropped in the middle of the pinnacle of modern technology. If old houses were all in perfectly good repair and had absolutely spotless paint jobs, that was.

“Our medical division said that keeping the long-term housing more friendly was good for morale,” Mei said with a shrug when McCree rose a questioning eyebrow at her.

Fuck morale, McCree felt weird walking into the house. Like he was intruding on someone else’s space. Didn’t stop him from grinning widely at the first person he saw (a bored looking Korean girl who could’ve been in her teens, lounging on an armchair near the entrance) and saying, “Hey hun, I’m home.”

Mouth lolling open in shock, the girl seemed completely oblivious to her gum as it fell out. “Mei, who are they?” She asked, sounding oddly annoyed. “Jack didn’t do it again, did he?”

Giggling, Mei replied, “Now now, has he ever been wrong before?” As she spoke a boy poked his head through an open doorway down the hall, dreadlocks flopping over his shoulder. Hell, they were both so _young._ McCree felt entirely out of place.

“Welcome to the base!” The boy said with an infectious grin. “I’m Lúcio! You guys are gonna be Blackwatch, right? Please say you’re Blackwatch.”

Well, if the welcome party had to be awkward, at least it was also enthusiastic. “Sure are, partner,” said McCree. Hanzo darted a sidelong look at him, but he ignored it. Hanzo’d had even fewer reservations about joining than McCree had, he couldn’t possibly be annoyed at being associated with Blackwatch at this point.

“Alright, alright, you guys can get to know each other later. I have to show these two to their room first!” Mei herded them down the hall, then left to a staircase leading upwards.

Grunting with slight exertion, McCree dragged his bag up each step laboriously. It was a pain, with only one arm and muscles that were still weaker than they should’ve been. Still, he was surprised when Hanzo grabbed the suitcase from his hand and shoved his own towards McCree gruffly. “You are too slow,” he grumbled.

“Right,” McCree drawled back, drawing the single syllable out. Hanzo’s answering frown was almost funny enough to get a laugh out of McCree, but he had to focus on hauling up Hanzo’s suitcase. It was lighter than McCree’s by quite a bit, but it still threw his balance off.

“And here we are!” Mei said when they reached the top. “Second floor, first door on the left. You’re lucky we just had a couple people retire, ‘cause I’m stuck on the third floor. It’s a pain when you’re tired after a mission.”

Hanzo was clearly not paying attention to what Mei said, instead shouldering his way into the room she’d indicated. There were two beds, thank God, though it looked like they were only twins. Which McCree supposed could be fine for Hanzo, but McCree liked a bit of space to spread out. Aside from that, though, the room was…

It was _something,_ alright. Pale yellow walls and soft-looking blue bedspreads. There was a half-open door leading to a bathroom done up in white tiles, and McCree couldn’t help snorting at the big windows and cream bedside tables. “Looks like a little kid’s room, if’n you don’t mind my saying so,” he said.

“Oh, you can switch out the furniture if you want,” Mei said brightly. She seemed not to notice McCree’s raised brow or the disgruntled scrunch of Hanzo’s nose. “Once you’ve been on a couple of missions, of course.”

There was nothing else for it, so McCree dumped Hanzo’s suitcase on the bed that was nearer to the bathroom. “Since you’ve got some free time now, I can give you the tour?” Mei offered as Hanzo followed suit. It was a miracle the old, battered suitcase didn’t pop at the seams, with the way Hanzo tossed it carelessly.

“Sounds good darlin’,” said McCree. Hanzo looked like he might want to protest, but he’d been oddly quiet for the past several minutes. Keeping with the trend, his mouth stayed shut.

Big as the house was, though, it didn’t take long for Mei to spell out where everything was. “Third floor’s all residential, but it’s mostly for people who aren’t around lots. So it’s pretty much unofficially storage,” she explained, waving her hand vaguely at the staircase without leading them up.

“Second floor’s residential on the left side, and the right side’s got the ‘study.’ It’s basically a really small library, if you’re too lazy to go to Geneva for a book. There’s also the meeting room, but we don’t use it much.”

She prattled on, McCree mostly tuning her out. He caught the important bits, the training rooms in the basement and shooting range in a nearby building because who needed the sound of gunshots when they were jet lagged. To his surprise, Hanzo latched onto information about the _kitchen_ of all things, asking what they tended to keep stocked. He sincerely hoped Hanzo wasn’t planning on force feeding him exorbitant amounts of food later.

Halfway through Mei’s explanation of how to request specific ingredients, Lúcio charged into the kitchen with his hand clasped around a woman’s wrist. “See Satya! I told you, new recruits!”

Pulling her prosthetic out of Lucio’s grasp daintily, Satya looked down her nose at McCree and Hanzo. “I don’t see why I had to greet them now,” she said, sniffing. She was as haughty as Hanzo, and it almost made McCree burst into laughter.

“Nice to meet you too, sweetheart,” McCree said, holding his hand out to shake. No surprise, she didn’t take it. “Name’s Jesse McCree.”

“I am Hanzo Shimada,” said Hanzo from behind him. McCree turned to half face him, and then he couldn’t help but snort. They had near identical sneers.

Their light-hearted moment ground to a halt as a tall figure filled the doorway. “Party’s over,” growled the large man. “McCree, Shimada, you’re coming with me.”

“Good to see you too Mr. Reyes!” Lucio called after them. Well, that answered that question. Reyes dismissed Lucio with a look, then stalked out, not bothering to check if Jesse and Hanzo were doing as they were told.

Marching straight-backed and clearly pissed off, Reyes led McCree and Hanzo right out of the house and towards the building Mei had said was for more serious training sessions. “Think the stick up his ass could get shoved any higher?” McCree muttered to Hanzo.

Surprised, Hanzo huffed a breath that sounded suspiciously like laughter. But then he shot McCree a dirty look, so he obediently fell silent. They walked into a building that was squatter and greyer than most of their surroundings, solid concrete that could take a beating. Inside, there was a large, open area, matts on the floor and exercise machines lining the walls. More interestingly, there was a woman in the middle of the room, sitting on top of a rather large, steel case.

“You first,” Reyes said, ignoring the woman in favor of pointing at Hanzo. He wrinkled his nose at the rude gesture, but began stretching the way he had before his sparring match with McCree regardless. “And you, go talk to Brigitte.”

Jesse shrugged, said, “I dunno who Brigitte is, but I’ll talk to the pretty little miss over there.” It seemed like McCree just couldn’t resist annoying the shit out of every man who held even a little power over him, but it was totally worth it for the way Reyes’ jaw clenched. As Jesse approached, Brigitte hopped off of the case, ponytail swinging behind her.

“Hey there,” she said, friendly as Mei and Lucio had been. “I’m Brigitte. How tall are you?”

“6 foot 1,” McCree replied. “Damn, but are y’all Overwatch people tryin’ to break my brain with so many introductions at once?” Brigitte chuckled, but didn’t answer.

“Alrighty then,” she said instead, clicking a code into a panel on the side of the case. The lid opened smoothly, hydraulics or something moving it without her having to lift a finger. And inside it were _arms._ Prosthetic arms.

Brigitte was talking while she sifted through the options, inspecting each carefully. “This isn’t really my area of expertise,” she admitted. “I mostly work with lower tech armor and stuff. But Dr. Zeigler is busy, so you’ll have to settle for me!” Holding up one of the arms, she thrust it towards McCree. “Right. Let’s try this on for size.”

Startled, McCree didn’t move as she shoved his sleeve up over his shoulder. “This might feel weird,” she warned. Then she pressed the limb to his stump and something sent tingling all down the side of his body, like-- like--

“What the _fuck!_ ” McCree snarled, jumping away. The arm hit the mat with a dull thump, and the room around them went silent. Embarrassment clawed its way up McCree’s throat as he realized what happened.

Electricity. It had just been a little current, incredibly brief. The arm had only been calibrating. It had only been…

“Jesse,” Hanzo started, clearly pained. But McCree grinned broadly and made a placating gesture with his hand, then turned back to Brigitte.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, cheery as could be. “Startled me, is all. You mind givin’ me a hand missy?”

A giggle burst out of Brigitte at the awful pun, and behind him McCree could hear Reyes ordering Hanzo to get back to stretching. Disaster successfully averted, Jesse couldn’t help but feel slightly pleased with himself. Even when Brigitte pressed the arm to his stump once again, and Jesse bit his tongue so hard he thought for sure he’d taste blood.

By the time the tingling sensation stopped, McCree had decided he really, really hated electricity. “Okay, try moving it,” Brigitte ordered. “If any of the responses are wrong, even a little, tell me.” McCree nodded, bringing his new hand up to his face and inspecting it.

Unlike his old arm, this one was navy blue and had a sort of whorling design on the metal plates that lit up cool white. It was sleeker, with black silicone filling the gaps between the hard edges. Likely, it was designed to prevent him accidentally pinching his skin in the joints. It also still felt very weird, in a way that McCree couldn’t quite put his finger on ( _ha_ ) until he clenched his hand into a fist.

“What the fuck?” McCree said again, though he was significantly calmer this time. Brigitte tilted her head in a question, and McCree couldn’t help but clench his fist tighter. “I can feel it?”

“Yep,” Brigitte said, answering his cadence instead of his words. “It’s pretty new tech, but as of last week it’s approved for use by Overwatch agents. If it’ll mess with your scores I can give you an older one.”

Despite the weirdness of feeling a limb that he’d never felt before, Jesse shook his head. “This one balances great, actually,” he said. “Now jus’ gimme a revolver and we’ll see how it can hold up.”

“Not yet,” said Reyes. McCree jumped, head wheeling to see the Blackwatch commander alarmingly close to his back. Shit, most people couldn’t sneak up on him like that. “Hanzo, start jogging laps. You stop when I say you do.”

Indignantly, Hanzo’s lips drew back from his teeth. “Of course, _sir,_ ” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. Evidently, he was nearing the limit of what he’d do without arguing. But Reyes just rolled his eyes and crooked his finger at McCree gesturing him closer.

“Approximately how good in a fight are you,” Reyes said slowly. “Now, compared to your baseline.”

The question was so out of left field that Jesse had to give it some actual consideration. “Sixty percent, ‘roundabout,” he said eventually. “That’d be my guess, anyway.”

Something dark went over Reyes’ face, but he nodded. “Right. You stretch, and then I’m taking you and Mr. Miyagi over there to the shooting range.”

Snorting, Jesse did as he said. Even when he caught Hanzo glaring at Reyes as he jogged past. See, McCree was totally a good, responsible soldier, not laughing at his superior officer at all.

Finishing his stretching as quickly as he reasonably could, given that McCree was very much not interested in injuring himself again at the moment, Jesse watched as each lap made Hanzo progressively angrier. He seemed to take offense to being told to exercise like a high schooler when they were both full grown men. McCree, on the other hand, had been an underling in Deadlock, and he was pretty sure he knew how this would go.

Sure enough, Reyes was directing them to the shooting range as soon as McCree stood straight up. “Shimada, your bow’s on lockdown until I say so. If you can’t work with something regulation, then you’ll be next to useless. Got it?”

Shimada nodded, but then gave McCree a look that meant he’d been thinking _obviously._ And then McCree realized he was thinking fondly about the fact that Hanzo had chosen to share that thought with _him,_ and hastily focused on their surroundings. There was a lot to focus on, at least.

Like everything else in the watchpoint, the shooting range was state of the art. Gone were the weird acoustics and dim, fluorescent lighting McCree was used to from the makeshift range the Deadlock gang had used. This was all LEDs and moving targets and pillars that could raise or lower to provide cover. Sheer force of will was the only thing keeping Jesse’s mouth from falling open; for his part, Hanzo didn’t look phased at all. _Obviously._

“Alright,” Reyes said, retrieving a revolver from the wall. There were quite possibly more weapons hanging there than Jesse had ever seen in his life, which was no mean feat considering his former employer. “Show us what you got.”

Reyes’ dark fingers were firm when they pressed the revolver into Jesse’s hand. A grin stole over his face, sharp and dangerous, and he met Hanzo’s eyes over the commander’s shoulder. This, Jesse knew how to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first things first: before I write any more Black Water, I'm going to go on an editing spree. This might take anywhere between a few days and a few weeks because I'm the world's shittiest editor, but Black Water seriously needs some editing. I'm basically winging this and risking huge plot holes in the process, lol. It's not an official hiatus, but it might take a bit. Comments in the meantime would be hugely encouraging, of course.
> 
> Second: There's a distinct possibility that there's a Reaper76 oneshot coming up that'll provide some exposition for this AU, but it won't be required reading or anything, just bonus for people who want to read about my wacko worldbuilding. It might delay the release of the next chapter, though, so if anyone has strong feelings either way (Chapter 10 first, or Reaper76 first) then please speak up! I don't wanna leave people hanging.
> 
> Third: Me and the lovely raphae11e (same username on tumblr and ao3) made a mix for this AU! Or, more accurately, I begged her into drawing a cover and naming the mix, and she saved me from making poor song choices lol. Tracklist, art, and link below!!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> **  
> [Alone Together - A McHanzo fanmix](https://8tracks.com/raphae11e/alone-together)  
>   
> 
> Tracklist:  
>  _Title song_ \- Black Water, Of Monsters and Men  
>  _McCree songs_ \- The boredom is the reason I started swimming, it’s also the reason I started sinking, The Front Bottoms | Un Alma Mas, Josh Groban | Shark Fin Blues, Missy Higgins  
>  _Hanzo songs_ \- Kaze no Requiem, Mao Daichi | Easy Way Out, Gotye | Wolf, First Aid Kit.  
>  _Pair songs_ \- Internal Dialogue, Maria Mena | Flaws, Bastille | Milk Teeth, Keaton Henson


	10. Drag the Lake and Bring me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for today: Praise kink, body worship, and enemies to lovers because I’m terrible and forgot it until now. This is very much a comfort chapter, but sometimes healing is messy so. Reminder that you can take breaks even if it seems like something should be easy to read on the surface, I suppose? Every one of my readers is lovely and I hope you’re all taking good care of yourselves! Also, I hope this was worth the wait, because dang did that editing Kill Me. In other news I’m making [announcement posts](http://twitchtipthegnawer.tumblr.com/tagged/black-water) for new chapters on tumblr now, so go ahead and reblog if you want to spread the word?

Satisfaction and exertion together made Jesse’s limbs loose. He kept replaying the look on Reyes’ face when, one handed, Jesse had fired off six perfect shots with barely a glance. Oh, that had been _sweet,_ but not as sweet as the rest of the assessment had been.

With the singular exception of the sparring match, that was. It had clearly been meant to test how McCree and Hanzo fought against each other, since they were the only people in the entire base who knew how each other fought hand-to-hand. But instead it had left McCree with a sour feeling in his gut, and Hanzo casting worried glances at him.

At least he had redeemed himself afterwards. Hanzo had shown off his hard light dragons, ripping through a training dummy with ease, and Reyes’ eyes had glinted with something calculating and pleased. Then he’d turned to McCree, and said, “You got anything that can live up to that display, cowboy?”

And McCree had grinned wider than he had in months and said, “Sure do.”

The world slowed around him, when he used deadeye. His focus narrowed down on the small, red circles, targets usually used for snipers. Their size helped create the illusion of distance, and they were out of revolver range besides. _Ha,_ out of revolver range. If Jesse could see it, he could hit it.

Hanzo stopped looking at Jesse with anything close to worry when he hit the first target. He was staring with blatant hunger by the sixth. As soon as Gabriel had dismissed them, ordering them back to their rooms, Hanzo had grabbed McCree’s new hand and marched away as quickly as he could without breaking into a jog.

Which was how Jesse ended up stumbling up the stairs behind Hanzo, smugly thinking back on his success in the evaluation and stubbornly _not_ thinking about the possible reasons Hanzo had dragged him out like that. Not that there were all that many possibilities, if he was honest.

“You like how I fight, don’t you darlin’?” McCree drawled, quiet enough that it was unlikely anyone else heard them. Hanzo stumbled over the last step, then turned to look at McCree and-- oh. His cheeks and ears were both pink.

Quickly turning back and opening their door, Hanzo tugged McCree into the room. Some voice in McCree’s head shouted that he shouldn’t go with the motion, that he’d really be better off not alone in a room with him, but McCree never liked listening to reason. So he followed, and Hanzo slammed the door shut behind him, and kissed him like he was dying.

His kisses were rather addictive, McCree decided. Each was so different, and this one was _scorching,_ Hanzo’s hands clutching McCree’s shirt and his teeth biting McCree’s lips and a dull ache in his lower back where the doorknob was pressing into his spine and Jesse couldn’t give half a flying fuck.They kissed until McCree was panting, and then Hanzo only pulled back enough to allow their breath to mingle.

“Yes,” he said, “I do like how you fight.” He stepped back, dragging McCree by the shirt this time. They tumbled onto Hanzo’s bed, and he immediately began picking at the buttons on McCree’s shirt, getting them undone in record time. “Whenever I see you like that, I cannot _think._ ”

Fumbling with Hanzo’s top, McCree could feel his cheeks burn at the compliment. “You ain’t a pushover yourself,” he pointed out. Through some miracle, his voice didn’t crack when Hanzo started kissing across his collarbone.

“But you,” Hanzo panted. “You are _deadly._ When you focus so intensely, there is nothing else like it.” Pressing his lips against a thin, silvery scar, Hanzo sent shivers up McCree’s spine. “You are _marvelous._ ”

“I--” McCree wasn’t sure what he’d been about to say, but Hanzo shut him up with a kiss before he could say it. It was kind of hard to breathe, with Hanzo’s considerable weight pinning him down and a mouth covering his, but the hands gently pushing his shirt off went a long way to appeasing him.

As into it as he was, though, there was also something foreboding growing in his gut. Hanzo had been so complimentary, it rubbed McCree the wrong way. Like trailing his fingers against the grain of unfinished wood; he kept expecting to get a splinter. While they were kissing, his mouth was occupied, but sure enough he started talking as soon as McCree needed to break for air.

“I could not believe it, the first time I saw you.” Hanzo unbuttoned his pants, his tone breathless and sweet and worrisome. “You were like something out of a movie.”

“Mighty k-kind of y-” Hanzo cut McCree off again, this time with a gentle hand over his mouth. Their eyes met, and the earnestness in Hanzo’s made McCree remember what he’d thought before. About how liking him was dangerous.

Once McCree was out of his clothing (and Hanzo’s was barely disheveled, really, was it so hard for him to get up long enough to at least take off his top?) Hanzo kissed down his stomach, beard scraping against his skin. “Even like this,” Hanzo said. “You are still so powerful. There is nothing in the world that could break you.”

Jolting as if he’d been electrocuted, Jesse tried to sit up. He couldn’t figure out what Hanzo’s angle was, if he was playing a game or just running his mouth off without thinking, but he was _wrong._ Hearing something like that ached deep inside McCree, in all the parts of him that knew that he could gain back all the weight he wanted and he would _still be broken._

Gently pressing his hands to McCree’s shoulders, encouraging him to relax back into the bed, Hanzo said, “Let me.” Jesse opened his mouth to protest, but this time Hanzo didn’t need to stop him; the words just wouldn’t come.

With a level of attentiveness McCree had rarely seen in anyone, Hanzo began slowly stroking and kissing every inch of McCree he could get to. Which was quite a bit, given his naked state. Hanzo seemed able to somehow seek out every single scar with pinpoint accuracy, his teeth scraping lightly at the edges of the larger ones, his thumbs pressing into the small starbursts of cigarette burns like he could leave behind his fingerprints. McCree’s nerves felt like live wires, frayed apart at the edges and sparking.

By the time Hanzo got to his navel, Jesse was already achingly hard, his cock drooling precum onto his belly. Hanzo licked it all up, so gently that Jesse arched into the touch, trying to get just the slightest bit of pressure. But it turned out that Hanzo was a fast learner, virgin or not.

McCree would almost rather that Hanzo keep talking, at this point. The silence only made each kind touch more… _more,_ and McCree couldn’t stand it. He wasn’t used to being touched like that, not by _anyone. _People got riled up during sex, they scratched and bit and panted and most certainly didn’t look back up at McCree with affection mixing with their lust.__

__“Too much,” Jesse said, something humiliated in his voice. His throat felt too tight; his eyes burned. “Hanzo, p-please.”_ _

__For once, Hanzo ignored him. He kissed the head of McCree’s cock with something far too close to reverence, pressed his thumbs to McCree’s inner thighs and rubbed soothing circles that only served to wind him up tighter. It was _terrible.__ _

__Holding McCree’s hips in two calloused, strong hands, Hanzo slowly sank his mouth down around Jesse’s dick. He was getting hard fast, his body somehow not getting the memo about the tears he could feel gathering in the corners of his eyes. He was trembling like a frightened _child,_ for fuck’s sake. And Hanzo just held him and sucked him and traced his ribs with deadly fingertips and said things wordlessly that Jesse was wholly unprepared to hear._ _

__As he continued, Hanzo gave in to the lust Jesse had seen, just a bit. He was still horribly slow and disgustingly caring, but he pushed himself too far too fast and ended up choking. When he tried to pull back entirely, McCree’s hands shot from their grip on the blankets to his hair. For a single moment, Hanzo stared up at him, surprise leaving his mouth open and McCree’s dick resting on his tongue. The whole situation might have Jesse tenser than meeting the commander of Blackwatch had, but damn if that image wasn’t nice no matter the context._ _

__Jesse breathed in deeply. When he spoke again, he was just as ashamed of the tremor in his voice as before. “Okay,” he said. It was the only signal Hanzo needed before he went back down, tongue shifting in ways that had McCree’s hands clenching. The sharp pull on his hair made Hanzo grunt in a way that told McCree the pain wasn’t unwelcome._ _

__It was clearly difficult for Hanzo to go as slow as he needed to. Which was a little funny, seeing as how he was usually so prideful. On the other hand, the way he treated McCree like he was important, like pleasuring him was absolutely _vital_ at the moment, was strangely aching._ _

__He finally succeeded on his fourth try, his throat relaxing in a sudden swallow that had Jesse slipping in seamlessly. Hanzo was even tighter than last time, a hot, velvety vice. Jesse’s hands were shaking in his hair, but when Hanzo opened his eyes and McCree saw the tears in them, something settled in his chest. It was still difficult, but it didn’t feel impossible._ _

__Forcing his hands to relax their grip, Jesse began combing through the tangles that had formed while Hanzo had been evaluated. The silky texture was a wonderful counterpoint to the feeling of Hanzo swallowing around him, and Jesse had a sudden mental image of what it might be like to come all over his hair, the way Hanzo had just the night before. Maybe later; at the moment, Jesse wouldn’t pull out of Hanzo’s mouth if you paid him._ _

__Hanzo was shifting his weight from side to side restlessly, clearly desperate for some kind of attention on his cock. But Jesse was too preoccupied by the slow roll of his hips, the way Hanzo struggled to keep his breathing slow and steady. With his human hand, Jesse touched Hanzo’s throat lightly. He could _feel_ the way it bulged around him, stretching wide and willing._ _

__“You look good like this,” McCree said. He had to look away when Hanzo tried to make eye contact again, though, because his eyes were burning once more. It was pathetic, how little it took to reduce McCree to _this.__ _

__Oddly, Hanzo didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He bobbed his head up and down, following the gentle suggestions from McCree’s hands and shifting hips. A part of McCree wanted to give in to the instinct to just thrust, knowing that Hanzo was relaxed enough for it. And McCree would normally love the rush of power it gave him, but… at the moment, there was a piece of him that wanted to let Hanzo take care of it. So he did._ _

__He came with a sigh, pleasure winding its way down his spine in a long, slow, satisfying moment. It was the kind of orgasm that left him relaxed and sleepy and content, which was a dangerous combination. _Dangerous._ Dangerous like the look in Hanzo’s hazy eyes, when he crawled up McCree’s body to kiss the taste of his own seed into his mouth. Dangerous like the fact that his heartbeat picked up when Hanzo took his hands, guided them to the ties of his clothing to show what he wanted McCree to do._ _

__While they both worked to undress Hanzo, they were quiet. It wasn’t until he was on his knees above McCree, naked and flushed down to his chest, that it occurred to Jesse that this was the first time he’d seen him fully naked. And _damn,_ but it was a sight for sore eyes._ _

__Chest heaving with each breath, hair tumbling out of its tie, Hanzo looked like something straight out of a dream. A wet dream, probably. He looked away from McCree with a shyness that couldn’t be faked, but his cock was full and heavy, foreskin retracted completely. McCree himself was cut, like most Americans (though why that was common practice in his country, McCree hadn’t the slightest), so he couldn’t help but feel a bit curious when he wrapped his hand around Hanzo and felt the way the foreskin shifted._ _

__Despite the number of times they’d done shit in the past, Jesse had never felt the need to savor it the way he did at the moment. It was Hanzo’s fault, he decided, with the way he’d spoken at the beginning. He’d put Jesse in a mood he wasn’t entirely sure he could break himself out of, and when he rolled his thumb over the head of Hanzo’s cock and saw his shuddery inhale he wasn’t sure he wanted to._ _

__The moment he tried to speed up his pace, however, Hanzo put his hands on McCree’s chest and said, “W-wait.” Freezing, McCree did as Hanzo said. Even when he stood on wobbly legs, getting off of the bed to grab his suitcase from the floor. He rummaged through it, and while the break itself wasn’t sexy, the view of his ass while he bent over was rather nice._ _

__Triumphantly standing straight again, Hanzo held his hand out. He was holding onto a tube of lube so tightly that McCree was a bit worried he might pop the cap open and squirt it everywhere. “Sh-show me what to do,” he said, that small, endearing stutter skipping a beat with McCree’s heart._ _

__Raising one eyebrow, McCree said, “I’m a bit sensitive for fingering right now, darlin’.” Halfway through the sentence Hanzo was already shaking his head, but he bit his lip and didn’t speak for a long moment._ _

__“No, I want-- could you--” And then he seemingly gave up, straddled McCree again, and hid his face in the pillow beside McCree’s head. The sudden contact left Jesse reeling a bit, but not as much as his next word did. “M-me.”_ _

__Short and sweet, but perfectly understandable. Jesse swallowed hard, then rested his hands on Hanzo’s shoulder blades. “You sure?” He asked, turning his head to press a kiss into Hanzo’s hair._ _

__“Please,” Hanzo said simply. He breathed steadily and deeply, clearly trying to keep himself calm when he reached behind himself to hand the lube to McCree. “But no sex.”_ _

__That was a surprise, but not an entirely unpleasant one. “Don’t know if I’ve got two rounds in me today anyway,” McCree admitted. He grabbed the tube in his new hand, feeling the pressure of it and marveling at the sensation._ _

__Not wanting to get too distracted, McCree wasted no time in popping the cap open and squeezing slick onto his fingers. Hanzo jumped a bit at the sudden sound, and McCree ran his prosthetic hand down his spine to sooth him. It was remarkable how quickly he settled under the touch, like a ruffled cat._ _

__Pressed together chest-to-chest as they were, McCree could feel it in his whole body when Hanzo held his breath. More gently than he knew he had in him, he smeared lube over Hanzo’s entrance, not even putting the barest threat of pressure against him. “Exhale when I push, okay?”_ _

__As soon as McCree felt Hanzo nod, he exerted a small amount of pressure with his index finger. Hanzo was so tight that he felt sure that it wouldn’t be enough, but when he followed McCree’s advice he relaxed just enough for McCree’s fingertip to slip in. “That’s it,” he said, slightly breathless._ _

__They both waited while Hanzo breathed in, then McCree pushed on the exhale again. It was painfully slow, but if Hanzo had ever so much as fingered himself it had been quite a while ago. All the patience felt worth it, when Hanzo finally lifted his head from the pillow to kiss McCree again. He was sloppy, desperate and clearly wanting _more_ without being sure he could handle it._ _

__Just when McCree’d thought he’d gained back a measure of control, however, Hanzo spoke again. “All that power,” he said. “But y-you have even more, _ah,_ control. I k-know that I can, nngh, trust you i-in this.”_ _

__Tears that had been threatening for far too long finally spilled, but McCree thought Hanzo might not have noticed. At the last possible moment McCree grabbed his hair, pulling him down for another burning kiss. He simultaneously slid his finger in to the last knuckle, and it didn’t matter if Hanzo had opened himself up before, his hands weren’t as big as McCree’s. There was a possibility he’d never felt something so deep inside him before._ _

__Minute shivers made their ways through Hanzo’s body each time McCree shifted at all. He’d meant to add another finger, but it was starting to look like Hanzo might not last that long; he was already so hard when they began, McCree couldn’t blame him. But still, he wanted to find Hanzo’s prostate before he came._ _

__Doing his damndest to not think of the first time someone had fingered him, McCree crooked his finger carefully. Hanzo was definitely not in pain, not shaking out of any sort of fear or apprehension. He seemed more eager than he ever had, which was hot as fuck. He wasn’t all that vocal, but the occasional noises he made were like shots of lust straight to McCree’s belly._ _

__Shifting his wrist, McCree finally got what he wanted. Hanzo cried out, a sharp, high sound that cut off when he bit McCree’s shoulder. It was far enough down that any bruise he left behind wouldn’t be noticeable, so McCree didn’t mind in the slightest. It was a small price to pay, to feel Hanzo grinding back down on his finger, desperate and wanton._ _

__Slow and careful, McCree massaged Hanzo’s prostate, increasing the pressure and then backing off in waves. Between them, Hanzo’s cock was twitching, moments from coming. Hell, McCree wouldn’t mind stretching this moment into infinity, his chest aching something sweet and the archer who had killed as many men as Jesse completely at his mercy._ _

__“C’mon, Hanzo,” McCree said quietly. “Let go.”_ _

__Moaning long and low, Hanzo came, spilling sticky between their stomachs. It was a splash of heat on McCree’s body, almost as satisfying as his own orgasm had been. They were both wrung out, unable to do much more than pant onto each other._ _

__In the wake of all of the emotions Hanzo had drawn out of him, Jesse felt empty. There were words rolling in his head, but they refused to resolve themselves into any sentences. He didn’t even feel up for lighthearted teasing. Luckily, Hanzo seemed content to lie in the silence as they caught their breath. Eventually they’d both have to get up, get dressed and go on with their days. But just for the moment, they could rest, and that was a luxury McCree wasn’t used to._ _

____

_____

“Damn,” McCree groaned, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. “How long was I out?” He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but his schedule was fucked to hell and back, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

“It was only half an hour,” Hanzo said. He sounded strangely subdued, and wouldn’t meet McCree’s eyes when he sat up and began to look around. “I cleaned us both, but I have not yet had the chance to put away all of my personal items.”

Head still a bit fuzzy with sleep, McCree mumbled, “It’s fine, we’ve got plenty of time. They ain’t gonna call us out on a mission for a while.” Hanzo nodded and turned away to continue putting neatly folded clothing into his new dresser.

For a while, they lapsed into a comfortable silence. As comfortable as it could be, at least, given that Jesse had just cried during sex and immediately passed out afterwards. It had only been a couple of tears, and Hanzo probably hadn’t noticed, but it still left a bit of lingering tension. Hanzo’s words didn’t help that any. Despite all that, Jesse was as relaxed as he’d been in a _long_ while.

Like always, it didn’t last. “McCree, I am sorry,” Hanzo said. For a moment McCree panicked, thinking that he’d noticed the crying after all, but then he said, “For what I did, when I captured you. I have never been fond of taking prisoners, so I was unsure--”

“Stop,” McCree said. It was hard and angry, and Hanzo fell silent the second he said it. “We’re not going to fucking talk about that. I fucked up and got myself captured, you did your goddamn job to get information out of me. End of story.”

“I did not ‘do my goddamn job.’ I was not truly invested in the information, and regardless, I should not have--”

“Stop right the fuck now,” McCree growled. “Or I’m walking out of this room.”

Frustration clear in the way his shoulders were drawn up, stubborn and defensive and not backing down, Hanzo said, “We need to talk about it. Unless you wish to request that we not room together, and not be sent on missions together. Because as it is, Jesse McCree, you will have to see me and deal with what I have done. And I will _not_ allow another person I care about to _lie_ to me like that. _Not again._ ”

His voice had risen steadily, ending in what was nearly a shout. McCree was left reeling in the wake of his outburst, unsure what to say in response. No one had ever talked to him like that before. People got pissed at him, sure, and people yelled all the time. But no one had ever gotten pissed at him _for his sake._ He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling.

Biting his lip, McCree stared down at his rumpled sheets. “Okay,” he said. “But not- not after _that._ Christ, Hanzo, my heart can only take so much in a day.”

What had been meant as a joke came out entirely too resigned for McCree’s tastes. But when he saw Hanzo cautiously turn to face him, then nod solemnly, he at least knew that he wasn’t the only one hating the conversation. It gave him the strength to put on a smile, even if it was kind of weak and pathetic.

They lapsed back into silence, the weight of it heavy on McCree’s shoulders. He felt his head begin to pound, and massaged his temples as he followed Hanzo’s example and began putting his personal items away. When he found his box of cigarillos beneath a pile of shirts, his grin became a whole lot easier.

Smoke flooded his lungs in a heady rush. As soon as he smelled it, Hanzo’s head whipped around, hands freezing on the last top in his suitcase. “Want one?” McCree offered, smiling lopsided over the cigarillo. He held the pack out, a single cigarillo left inside.

“Thank you.” Hanzo took it gingerly, then set it to his lips while McCree held up his lighter. It was the sort of quiet moment that McCree had had with some Deadlock members. A sort of camaraderie between people who didn’t mind poisoning themselves once in a while.

After that, though, McCree wanted to get out of the room for a bit. Luckily, they were nearing dinner time, so it didn’t take much prodding to get Hanzo to lead the way down the stairs. They walked into the sunshine-yellow kitchen to the smell of something delightfully spicy, the woman McCree vaguely remembered Lúcio calling Satya standing at the stove. Lúcio himself was sitting at the table, chattering away at her.

When Lúcio caught sight of them he grinned widely. “Jesse! Hanzo! You guys hungry too?” He asked, loud and friendly as could be. His energy made McCree feel older than he was.

“Sure am, partner!” Jesse called back. If he couldn’t be a hyper twenty-something anymore, he could at least fake it for all he had. “What’s the lady cookin’ up?”

“Curry,” Satya answered for him. She sounded curt, but if her food tasted half as good as it smelled Jesse would put up with all the attitude in the world.

Jesse sat at the table, but Hanzo went over to Satya and peered at the spices she had lined up on the counter. “That is quite a bit of chili,” he noted, standing far enough back that he wasn’t in her way.

Satya shot him a disparaging look anyway. “It’s less than I would like to use,” she said. “Some of the people in this base cannot handle the slightest bit of heat in their food.” Lúcio winked at McCree when he heard that last part, which was equal parts hilarious and cute. The two of them were clearly close.

“So,” McCree said to Lúcio. “You part of Blackwatch too? Y’all seemed mighty pleased to have us.”

“Naw, I’m no good for covert ops anymore. Satya is, though. She specializes in hard light tech.” As soon as he said it Satya shot him a dirty look, but Hanzo looked interested.

Before anyone could ask follow-up questions, though, Mei came prancing in. “Lúcio, don’t mislead them!” She said. “You’re plenty good at covert ops.” Then she turned to McCree and stage whispered, “Jack’s training him to be the next head of Overwatch. Doesn’t want him to get into any trouble in the meantime.”

“Lies!” Lúcio declared, though he said it with a laugh. “I swear, it’s only because everyone knows my face now. And no, it’s not because of Jack,” he said in response to Mei’s eyebrow wiggle. “My album got big a whole hell of a lot faster than I thought it would!”

He sounded entirely too pleased about that fact, so Jesse figured he wasn’t too broken up about not being in Blackwatch. But something about what he said was ringing a bell, and _holy shit._ “You’re _Lúcio?_ ” McCree said, much to Mei’s amusement.

“The one and only revolutionary,” Lúcio said. His eyes twinkled with exactly the kind of mischief you’d expect out of someone who helped change the political game of an entire country from a favela. “At your service!”

“Don’t tease,” Satya chided. Lúcio looked a bit sheepish, but that twinkle didn’t go away.

“Hot damn,” Jesse said. “Hanzo, I think we’ve fallen in with a bunch’a celebrities! Should’ve brought my autograph book.”

Rather than dignify that with a response, Hanzo rolled his eyes. He was also eyeing Lúcio differently now, though, so Jesse knew he wasn’t the only one who was a bit uncomfortable with the situation. They’d joined Overwatch less than twenty four hours ago, and now they were going to eat dinner with some big fucking fish. If there had been anything Jesse had expected, it wasn’t… this.

Then again, he hadn’t expected Hanzo Shimada to be sweet and genuine in bed either. Turned out that life had decided to throw him a few curveballs, lately. McCree would just have to hope he didn’t strike out, because now it was looking like he might actually survive. If he was very, very lucky.


End file.
